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[See  page  164 
BY  JOVE,  CINDERELLA,  WHO  IS  YOUR  FAIRY  GODMOTHER?' 


SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 


A  STORY 


BY 


G.    DORSET 


ILLUSTRATED 


'Not  every  woman  is  trained  to  courage,' 


HARPER  6-  BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

MC  Al  X 


Copyright,  1910,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

Published  August,  1910. 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"BY  JOVE,  CINDERELLA,  WHO  IS  YOUR  FAIRY 

GODMOTHER  ?" Frontispiece 

"l    WANT    A     WOMAN    FOR    A    WIFE  "...  Facing  p.       IQ 

"iT  WILL  BE  SUPERB  TO  FIND  OURSELVES  ABOVE 

THESE  PETTY  ANNOYANCES  "  .  "  98 

HE  BADE  ME  GOOD-BYE,  NOT  MEETING  MY  EYES          "         146 


2135211 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 


CHAPTER    I 

Y  father  died  when  I  was  fifteen  years  old, 
and  my  mother,  then  ailing  with  the  same 
malady,  found  herself  dependent  upon  me, 
the  eldest  of  her  five  children.  The  day  of  fa- 
ther's funeral  the  smallest  child  stayed  at  home 
with  mother,  and  they  sat  waiting  for  us  at  the  window  when 
we  came  home.  It  was  spring,  and  even  though  I  was  sad 
I  noticed  the  dandelions  spotting  the  lawn  like  yellow  stars. 
Our  house  was  a  small  wooden  one,  the  yard  only  a  few 
feet  wide,  and  the  neighbors  could  look  in  through  our 
windows. 

That  night,  when  the  children  were  in  bed,  mother  and  I 
sat  talking  in  her  room,  and  it  seemed  as  though  she  couldn't 
live  the  week  out — she  coughed  after  every  few  sentences. 
Around  her  shoulders,  over  her  night-dress,  she  wore  a  gray 
shawl.  Her  eyes  were  beautiful  and  clear. 

"  It  is  going  to  be  hard  for  you,  Esther,"  she  said  to  me. 
We  were  not  a  family  of  sentimentalists,  but  I  think  I  said 
to  mother  then  about  the  words  she  wanted  to  hear,  though 
they  weren't  immortal  or  clever. 

"  Oh,  we'll  get  along  all  right.     We  don't  owe  any  money." 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  asked  her  if  she  had  enough  covering,  and  whether  she 
wished  powders  to  make  her  sleep,  and  she  called  me  to  her 
and  gave  me  a  kiss.  Then  she  began  to  cough  dreadfully. 

I  sat  up-stairs  in  my  bedroom  for  quite  a  while  looking  at 
"ads"  in  the  paper.  I  noticed  this: 

"WANTED — A  young  girl  to  learn  typewriting.  Wall 
Street.  Salary  paid  to  beginner." 

The  next  day  I  went  to  New  York  and  applied.  They 
engaged  me  at  five  dollars  a  week.  We  had  enough  money 
left  from  father's  bank-account  to  pay  the  funeral  expenses 
and  buy  me  a  commutation  ticket,  and  the  house-rent  had 
been  paid  for  us  by  an  uncle  in  the  South  for  the  last  few 
years.  This  left  me  clear  twenty  dollars  a  month  to  feed 
and  clothe  six  of  us. 

My  remembrance  of  any  tragedy  in  the  situation  isn't 
clear.  There  was  never  a  moment  of  despair  in  our  house- 
hold. The  people  liked  mother  in  Brackettsville.  Nobody 
bothered  us  for  money,  and  we  lived  for  a  year  on  kindness 
in  the  town  and  what  I  made.  Then  Fanny  joined  me  in 
my  daily  pilgrimage  to  and  from  New  York,  starting  in 
just  as  I  had — at  five  per  week,  and  I  was  raised  the  next 
year  to  ten  dollars. 

Together  we  fed  and  clothed  and  educated  the  boys. 
None  of  us  were  imaginative,  so  we  were  spared  cook- 
ing up  the  miseries  and  worries  that  cleverer  people  make 
for  themselves  We  never  saw  anything  "picturesque"  or 
"dreadful"  in  our  fight  for  life,  and  I  never  heard  a  com- 
plaint at  home.  I  don't  recall  a  wish  expressed  that  was 
beyond  the  gratification  of  our  means.  Perhaps  we  were 
without  hearts.  Perhaps  we  were  too  proud.  Perhaps, 
'way  down  in  us,  were  springs  which  years  of  need  and 
2 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

care  and  repression  had  never  suffered  to  be  uncovered;  per- 
haps that  crust  kept  the  waters  still  and  deep.  I  do  not 
know. 

We  had  simple  pleasures,  and  Fanny  took  them;  I  was 
too  tired.  For  many  years  my  midday  lunch  in  New  York 
cost  me  ten  cents  a  day — no  more.  I  was  underfed  and  over- 
worked. I  went  to  bed  right  after  dinner.  Parties  in  Brack- 
ettsville  didn't  tempt  me  out,  but  Fanny  loved  to  dance,  and 
she  had  a  party-dress  and  a  pair  of  thin  shoes. 

Two  years  after  father,  mother  died.  I  cannot  write 
about  it.  ... 

I  went  to  the  city  the  day  after  the  funeral,  and  at  four 
o'clock  fainted  at  my  machine.  I  don't  believe  I  shed  a 
single  tear  at  the  house.  I  felt  as  though  the  world  were  one 
big  burden  tied  to  my  shoulders,  and  I  gave  way  under  it. 
I  guess  fainting  is  another  sign  of  tears.  When  I  came  to 
I  heard  the  office  boy  say  to  a  girl  they  had  called  in  from 
the  next  office:  "Her  mother  was  buried  yesterday,  and  she 
was  too  proud  to  ask  for  more  than  one  day  off." 

There  is  no  reason  why  I,  of  all  others  in  the  wide 
world,  should  write  the  "annals  of  a  life,"  unless  it  may 
be  that  in  some  way  or  other  they  may  serve  to  en- 
courage a  woman  here  and  there.  Perhaps  some  woman 
with  little  education  and  a  great  deal  of  timidity  may  be  in- 
terested in  my  life. 

I  don't  think  there  is  a  creature  living  who  would  not  love 
to  be  "successful,"  and  who  isn't  ready  to  spend  twenty-five 
cents  or  even  twenty-five  dollars  on  a  book  which  would  tell 
them  "how  to  succeed."  You  hear  such  a  lot  of  talk  nowa- 
days about  success!  I  don't  pretend  to  write  such  a  book. 
But  looking  at  the  opening  of  my  life  in  the  small  Bracketts- 
ville  house,  when  five  of  us  stood  around  mother's  coffin, 
2  3 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

with  only  me  to  support  the  family — when  I  contrast  that 
picture  with  to-day  I  suppose  people  would  say  that  I  have 
made  a  success.  In  this  case,  if  what  I  have  to  tell  can  give 
any  woman  or  any  wife  courage — why,  then,  the  pages  are 
worth  while! 


CHAPTER  II 

WOULDN'T  be  surprised  if  I  had  been  cut 
out  to  go  into  the  niche  Fate  set  for  me;  I 
seemed  to  fit  in  from  the  first!  Nobody 
knew  when  I  was  tired,  frightened,  or  dis- 
heartened; I  didn't  have  feelings  that  were 
hurt,  and  I  didn't  cry.  I  wore  thin  clothes  in  the  win- 
ter and  thick  clothes  in  the  summer.  My  feet  were  wet, 
and  I  didn't  get  ill.  I  lost  my  place  in  the  bad  season 
of  the  year  and  I  didn't  commit  suicide,  and  a  sense  of 
humor  helped  me  through.  Pretty  clothes  and  hats  I 
did  not  crave,  but  I  must  say  I  never  saw  a  nice  boot  or  a 
pair  of  gloves  that  I  didn't  long  for  them! 

There  was  a  period  of  six  weeks  of  hard  times,  and 
when  things  were  at  their  bluest  I  answered  an  adver- 
tisement in  the  paper  for  some  work  to  be  done  in  one  of 
the  big  houses  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

When  I  gave  my  name  at  the  door  I  was  shown  into 
an  up-stairs  sitting-room  opening  off  a  bedroom.  It  was 
February,  and  I  had  walked  up  from  Twenty-third  Street 
Ferry  to  save  the  fare.  It  was  so  bitter  cold  that  the  exercise 
hadn't  warmed  me.  My  clothes  were  too  thin  for  comfort, 
and  I  didn't  own  a  pair  of  rubbers.  I  was  too  dulled  with 
cold  to  notice  the  house,  but  I  worked  there  afterward  and 
grew  to  admire  all  the  pretty  things. 

In  a  few  moments  a  maid  beckoned  me  to  step  into  the 
5 


A     SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

next  room,  where  a  lady  in  bed,  propped  up  with  pillows, 
received  me.  As  she  made  arrangements  with  me,  my  sight 
grew  clear  enough  to  notice  the  big  bed  with  its  fine  sheets, 
its  warm  silk  covers — everything  so  expensive  and  elegant, 
and,  to  me,  so  new.  She  asked  me  to  take  my  jacket  off,  but 
my  blouse  was  in  a  shabby  state  and  I  refused.  I  felt  as 
cold  as  if  the  wind  and  the  snow  outside,  which  I  had  walked 
in,  had  gone  right  down  deep  to  my  heart,  and  it  was  a  re- 
lief to  sit  with  my  note-book  on  my  knee  and  to  take  dicta- 
tion for  more  than  two  hours.  All  day  I  had  eaten  nothing 
but  my  ten-cent  lunch.  Every  now  and  then  something 
gave  way  inside  of  me,  and  finally  all  culminated  in  one 
single  feeling.  As  I  waited  for  Mrs.  Falsworth  to  consult  a 
list,  I  looked  down  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  and  there  stood 
her  little  slippers.  I  couldn't  have  described  them  properly 
then,  but  I  can  now.  They  were  small  and  pink,  made  of 
fine  brocade,  with  high  French  heels,  and  all  corded  around 
with  a  silver  cord,  and  small  pink  rosettes  at  the  top.  They 
were  so  dainty  and  elegant,  so  restful,  so  awfully  expensive- 
looking  that  they  struck  me  terribly!  I  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved it  if  any  one  had  told  me  what  they  cost,  but  I  learned 
that  she  had  paid  twenty-five  dollars  for  them.  They  were 
the  final  touch  to  the  tired-outness  and  the  meagreness  of 
a  long  time — of  the  denials  of  a  poor  life  for  a  long  time — 
they  were  like  a  composite  picture  of  everything  Mrs.  Fals- 
worth had  and  of  what  it  meant  to  be  a  real  lady.  The 
slippers  were  my  size.  I  was  proud,  in  a  shy  way,  of  my 
feet  and  my  hands.  I  owned  just  one  pair  of  shoes,  and 
they  were  nearly  worn  out;  as  for  a  pair  of  bedroom  slippers 
— some  one  knit  mother  a  pair  of  gray  bedroom  shoes  and 
I  kept  them,  put  them  away  with  a  few  things  in  memory 
of  her.  When  we  got  into  bed  we  got  in  barefooted,  all  of 
6 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

us.  Those  pink  shoes  stuck  out  from  under  Mrs.  Fals- 
worth's  bed  and  mocked  me,  and  I  hated  the  lady  for  a 
moment  and  the  people  who  could  wear  such  things. 

I  rode  to  the  ferry  with  a  reckless  anger  in  my  heart. 
Those  shoes  danced  before  my  eyes;  they  haunted  me 
until  I  was  frightened,  and  I  wondered  if  I  wasn't  going  to 
be  ill.  Crossing  Twenty-third  Street  I  looked  out  at  the 
shop-windows,  but  there  was  nothing  in  any  one  of  them 
like  those  slippers.  That  night,  when  I  reached  home, 
the  image  was  so  real  that  I  wouldn't  have  been  surprised 
to  see  them  peep  out  from  under  my  bed,  from  under  the 
old  darned  quilt.  They  were  not  there,  or  any  slippers  at 
all,  for  that  matter! 

I  wrote  for  Mrs.  Falsworth  for  three  weeks,  and  grew  to 
like  her.  We  were  quite  friendly.  I  explained  about  the 
slippers  one  day,  but  she  didn't  understand  one  little  bit.  I 
didn't  mind  the  pretty  things  any  longer,  though,  for  I  had  a 
first-class  position  with  a  good  firm  down-town,  and  a  high 
salary — for  a  girl. 


CHAPTER  III 

ANNY  and  I  kept  the  children  at  school  and 
ran  the  household,  and  at  twenty-five  I  was  a 
business  woman,  with  nothing  in  my  circum- 
stances out  of  the  ordinary  except  that  I  had 
it  rather  easier  than  most.  I  had  my  own 

offices — two  rooms  on  the  tenth  floor  of Wall  Street.  I 

had  two  assistants,  working  from  9  A.M.  till,  sometimes,  far 
into  the  night.  Those  years  I  took  in,  net,  twelve  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  and  I  felt  secure  and  businesslike,  and  too 
busy  to  know  whether  or  not  I  was  happy. 

I  had  the  private  work  of  several  important  offices.  On 
one  side  the  work  of  the  office  of  Senator  Bellars,  and  on 
the  other  side  the  work  of  the  husband  of  my  friend  of  the 
pink  slippers,  Mr.  William  Falsworth,  who  gave  me  his 
work  in  the  morning  himself  and  came  himself  in  the 
evening  to  take  it  away. 

I  came  to  know  Mrs.  Falsworth  very  well.  When  I  had 
first  gone  there  to  work,  her  husband  was  away,  and  we 
grew  friends  before  he  came  home.  Minnie  was  pretty  and 
full  of  interests,  and  went  out  to  "board  meetings"  every 
day.  One  day  her  husband  said  to  her  while  I  was  present: 

"The  only  Home  Board  you're  not  on  is  No. Fifth 

Avenue,  Minnie." 

She  was  made  up  of  dress  and  pink  slippers,  and  reports 
of  School  Boards  and  Home  Boards,  and  of  little  extrava- 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

gant  things.  Will  Falsworth  was  made  up  of  plain  flesh 
and  blood.  When  he  came  to  look  for  his  wife  there 
was  such  a  lot  of  things  to  brush  away  before  he  could  find 
her,  and  when  he  did  find  her  he  was  such  a  real  man,  that 
he  used  to  make  her  shudder. 

We  had  grown  to  be  intimate,  she  and  I,  before  he 
came  home,  but  it  wasn't  a  real  friendship;  it  was  so  easy 
to  slip  into  and  it  was  so  easy  to  slip  out  of  afterward.  She 
wasn't  really  interested  in  me.  If  I  had  been  a  report,  she 
would  have  bought  me  and  had  me  bound.  If  her  husband 
had  been  a  report,  she  might  have  learned  him  by  heart. 

The  first  time  Mr.  Falsworth  saw  me,  I  was  working  in 
the  upstairs  sitting-room.  He  had  come  in  from  the  West, 
where  he  had  been  travelling  for  nearly  a  year,  reorganizing 
his  mines.  He  came  in  as  if  he  expected  to  be  met  by  his 
wife,  but  she  was  out. 

I  always  think  of  people  as  I  see  them  for  the  first  time, 
and  after  that  the  image  of  them  moves  back  and  forth 
to  or  from  the  first  impression.  But  Will  Falsworth's  stays 
the  same.  He  was  middle-sized  and  very  good-looking. 
He  seemed  eager  and  bright  and  hopeful.  He  came  in  like  a 
man  from  the  war,  glad  to  be  home  again — glad  to  come  to 
a  woman  who  would  welcome  him.  Business  is  a  good  deal 
like  war,  anyhow;  it  takes  it  out  of  people.  Even  if  the 
wounds  and  scars  don't  show,  they  are  there  all  right. 

"So  you're  the  girl  who  has  been  sending  me  all  those 
letters,  are  you  ?" 

Minnie  didn't  come  in  until  eleven  o'clock,  and  by  that 
time  Mr.  Falsworth  had  told  me  about  his  Western  trip, 
and  his  success  with  the  Wildwood  Mines;  and  he  must 
have  thought  that  he  was  talking  to  some  one  whom  he  had 
known  for  more  than  an  hour,  for  we  looked  honestly  at 
9 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

each  other,  and  I  understood  how  he  felt  about  things  from 
the  start. 

There  was  a  lot  of  work  about  the  reorganization  of  the 
mine,  and  I  used  to  go  to  Mr.  Falsworth's  office  and  take 
dictation  from  nine  till  twelve.  One  day  when  I  stopped 
writing  and  looked  up  it  was  two  o'clock.  He  felt  dread- 
fully, and,  to  please  him,  I  accepted  his  invitation  to  go  out 
and  have  something  to  eat.  We  went  to  a  little  restaurant 
near  the  Battery.  It  was  a  hot  day,  and  we  walked  along 
down  the  Ship's  Company  to  the  Green.  We  had  oysters 
first,  and  chicken.  He  ordered  a  little  white  wine  and 
soda.  I  didn't  want  to  take  any  of  that,  but  he  begged  me, 
and  so  I  did  to  please  him.  We  ended  up  with  mince-pie, 
coffee,  and  ice-cream,  and  when  we  came  out  it  was  four 
o'clock.  He  made  me  walk  down  to  the  Battery  with  him, 
and  we  went  to  the  Aquarium  together  and  saw  the  queer, 
pretty  fish.  There  were  only  a  few  strollers  outside,  and 
some  immigrants  hunched  up  on  seats.  The  day  was  clear 
as  water  and  the  port  full  of  ships.  Will  Falsworth  took 
hold  of  my  arm  and  said: 

"Esther,  I  want  to  go  on  one  of  those  ships  and  take  you 
along  with  me.  Will  you  come  ?" 

He  had  never  said  one  word  to  me  before,  although  I  had 
been  alone  with  him  for  hours  at  a  time,  but  now  it  seemed 
natural.  At  first,  when  he  made  his  startling  suggestion 
about  sailing  out  from  the  Battery,  I  just  thought  I  would 
go!  He  led  me  over  to  a  seat  and  there  was  no  one  there 
but  ourselves,  and  we  sat  down  and  he  talked  to  me  a  long 
while  and  I  felt  like  crying.  I  looked  at  the  boats  and  the 
water  so  long  that  I  could  draw  pictures  of  every  vessel  in 
the  harbor  that  day.  When  we  got  up  to  go  at  last  it  was 
dark.  We  had  stayed  there  four  hours,  and  it  had  seemed 
10 


"  I    WANT    A     WOMAN    FOR    A    WIFE  " 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

like  a  moment.  I  hadn't  said  more  than  a  few  words  my- 
self, but  I  made  him  leave  me  there,  and  I  got  out  of  him 
a  kind  of  promise  to  do  just  as  I  said.  I  thought  I  was 
stronger  than  he.  When  I  watched  him  cross  over  to 
his  car  I  walked  up  toward  Chambers  Street,  crying  hard. 
The  tears  rolled  down  like  rain. 

The  next  day  I  hadn't  taken  off  my  things  when  he 
appeared  with  a  letter  to  dictate.  He  looked  pale  and 
troubled,  but  I  wouldn't  listen — just  kept  the  machine  go- 
ing hard.  At  last  he  read  out  to  me  from  one  of  his  letters, 
"I  am  going  to  Colorado  to-night,  to  be  gone  for  several 
weeks,"  and  I  stopped  writing.  "Will  you  go  with  me, 
Esther?" 

"Certainly  not." 

He  folded  the  letter. 

"Then  I  won't  go  to  Colorado,"  he  said.  "It  means 
a  loss  of  a  pile  of  money  to  me  and  to  a  lot  of  other 
people." 

"You  have  got  to  go,  or  I  will  never  speak  to  you  again 
as  long  as  I  live." 

He  repeated  under  his  breath:  "But  I  will  speak  to  you, 
Esther,  as  long  as  I  live." 

"It  won't  do  you  any  good." 

"We'll  see,  little  girl,  we'll  see." 

Then  he  began  again,  and  I  had  to  listen. 

"I  married  some  one,  Esther,  but  I  didn't  get  a  woman. 
I  want  a  woman  for  a  wife.  Every  decent  human  man 
wants  the  same  thing.  I  don't  drink  and  I  don't  gamble, 
but  I  want  a  wife,  Esther.  I  want  a  wife." 

I  put  these  words  down  because  they  go  in  with  my  story. 
It  doesn't  matter  so  much  what  he  said  about  me  or  what  he 
thought.     He  was  very  blind.     He  was  lonely,  above  all; 
ii 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

that's  what  he  was!  And  he  was  a  flesh-and-blood  man, 
and  I  understood  him  from  the  start. 

I  took  his  letters  out  of  the  machine  and  folded  them.  I 
put  them  in  their  envelopes  as  he  directed  me.  I  hadn't 
said  one  word,  and  he  wound  up  with : 

"Won't  you  speak  to  me,  Esther?" 

And  I  told  him  that  if  he  didn't  go  to  Colorado  that  night 
I  would  never  speak  to  him  again. 

Here  both  my  girls  came  in  at  once,  and  Will  took  his 
letters  and  went  toward  the  door.  He  said  out  loud  from 
the  doorway: 

"All  right.     Good-bye.     I  am  off  to-night,  Miss  Carey." 

Then  he  wrote  right  there  something  in  his  note-book, 
tore  out  the  slip,  folded  it  up,  and  handed  it  back  to  me  by 
Miss  Frame: 

"Here's  my  address — send  along  any  other  letters  you 
may  have,  and  don't  forget  to  mail  me  that  last  one" 

He  emphasized:  "That  last  one  to-night,  Miss  Carey" 

When  he  had  really  gone,  and  all  three  of  us  were  hard  at 
work  again  clicking  away,  I  looked  at  the  slip  he  had  given 
me.  There  was  the  address  of  his  hotel  in  Chicago,  the  ad- 
dress of  one  in  Denver,  and  Salt  Lake — in  fact,  every  city 
he  passed  through  where  he  was  going  to  stop.  And  some 
other  things. 

The  next  day  I  got  a  wire  from  Buffalo,  and  it  only  said: 
"Speak  to  me,  Esther" 


CHAPTER   IV 

VERYBODY  knows  about  Senator  Bellars. 
He  had  proposed  his  famous  Tariff  Bill  in 
the  Senate,  and  there  was  so  much  talk  about 
it  that  I  was  proud  to  have  his  work  in  my 
office.  The  day  after  Will  Falsworth  left  for 
the  West  a  boy  from  the  seventh  floor  came  for  me  to  go 
for  some  dictation  in  the  Senator's  offices — that  they  were 
in  a  rush.  I  felt  excited,  for,  though  I  had  worked  for 
important  business  men,  I  had  never  seen  any  one  so  big 
as  Senator  Bellars. 

He  was  walking  up  and  down  the  floor  of  his  private 
office.  He  made  me  take  one  of  the  leather  chairs,  and 
dictated,  walking  up  and  down  in  front  of  me,  in  a  loud 
voice,  as  though  he  were  arguing  or  addressing  the  Senate. 
I  took  his  work  for  weeks  after  that,  and  it  was  always  the 
same  loud,  hard  voice  crying  out  words  at  me.  When  I 
left  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  get  the  sound  out  of 
my  ears.  After  a  few  letters  to  different  people  in  Wash- 
ington, he  walked  up  near  me  and  stood  right  in  front  of  me, 
staring  down.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  speak  directly  to 
me,  and  I  was  frightened  to  death,  but  his  face  was  hard 
and  set  in  anger,  and  before  I  had  time  to  be  much  more 
terrified  he  began: 

"My  DEAR  STEVE  [then  I  saw  he  was  not  thinking  of  me 
at  all], — I  am  sick  and  tired  of  saying  the  same  things  to 
13 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

you!  God  knows  it  doesn't  seem  to  do  any  good,  so  I'm 
not  going  into  the  old  matters  again.  You  have  run  through 
three  fortunes,  and  I  don't  intend  to  hand  you  out  a  fourth. 
You  may  come  here  to  New  York  and  do  as  I  say,  or  you 
can  stay  where  you  are  and  go  to  the  devil.  You  are 
thirty,  and  no  fool,  and  you  can  work.  If  there  is  anything 
that  sickens  a  man  in  the  world  I  live  in,  who  sees  machines 
run  and  watches  the  nation's  progress,  it  is  to  come  against 
a  poor  performance  of  any  kind.  A  bad  violinist  is  as  bad 
as  a  bad  banker.  /  like  success.  I  meant  to  have  it  my- 
self from  the  start,  and  I  got  it.  Now,  I  don't  intend  to 
stick  up  for  failures  of  any  kind.  You  are  a  damned  poor 
painter,  and  so  far  you  have  been  a  poor  citizen.  You 
have  gone  your  own  way,  but  you  did  it  on  your  own 
money.  Now,  I  will  help  you  and  I  will  do  it  in  my  own 
way.  You've  got  a  magnificent  education  and  you  can  use 
it.  If  you  will  pitch  your  sickening  daubs  out  of  the  win- 
dows, and  quit  drink  and  cards  and  women  and  come  to 
America,  I  will  give  you  a  job.  You  can  work  right  here 
with  me.  I  enclose  a  check  to  pay  up  your  debts  in  Paris 
and  get  you  here.  Don't  spend  money  on  cables.  Come. 
"Your  uncle,  STEPHEN  BELLARS." 

When  I  had  finished  this  letter,  Mr.  Bellars  asked  me  to 
write  it  out  in  his  office.  And  before  I  left  him  he  made 
an  appointment  with  me  to  do  his  private  letters  while  his 
secretary  was  absent.  After  that  I  wrote  for  him  every  day 
for  more  than  three  weeks. 

He  was  strict  and  cold  and  hard:  a  splendid  old  man 

with  great,  shaggy  hair  like  a  bush,  and  a  gruff  voice.     He 

spoke  with  a  slight  Western  accent.     He  made  me  think  of 

a  powerful  engine  that  runs  a  great  machine.     Except  for 

14 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

a  few  remarks,  he  never  spoke  to  me  when  I  came  or  went. 
I  don't  think  he  thought  about  me,  except  that  I  was  a  good 
servant.  Over  and  over  I  remembered  what  he  said  in  his 
letter  to  Mr.  Kirkland — "I  don't  like  failures:  I  like  suc- 
cesses"— and  it  made  me  more  particular  than  ever  to  be 
the  best  I  could  in  my  position.  When  my  time  was  up  he 
mailed  me  a  check  for  just  double  my  bill.  I  sent  the 
money  back  by  Miss  Long.  When  she  returned  she  said 
Senator  Bellars  wanted  to  speak  to  me  at  once.  He 
wasn't  alone;  there  was  a  man  sitting  in  one  of  the  chairs 
by  the  window.  Senator  Bellars  had  his  check  and  my  bill 
in  his  hand. 

"I  sent  you  this  amount,  Miss  Carey,  because  your  work 
was  worth  it  to  me.  I  like  to  pay  for  what  I  get." 

I  said  that  he  had  done  so — that  I  was  fully  paid. 

"Then,"  he  nodded,  "you  are  a  very  foolish  woman  not 
to  take  all  you  can  justly  get  in  this  world.  You  should  re- 
gard it  as  a  'business  deal';  your  stock  went  up  to  par  in 
those  few  days." 

When  he  had  finished  talking,  curiously  enough,  he'd 
made  a  difference  in  my  point  of  view — I  put  my  hand  out 
and  said: 

"If  you  think  it  is  really  worth  that  amount,  sir,  I'll  take 
the  money." 

He  handed  me  back  the  check,  laughing. 

"You  are  a  wise  girl.  When  you  see  an  open  door,  don't 
go  and  put  your  shoulders  through  a  cellar  window."  He 
went  on  in  the  same  loud  voice:  "Now,  I  have  sent  for  you 
to  offer  you  the  position  of  private  secretary  for  three  months 
at  two  hundred  dollars  a  month." 

I  had  taken  my  rooms  and  organized  my  business  to  gain 
my  independence,  and  to  be  free  from  working  for  just  one 
15 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

man.  This  would  confine  me  entirely  to  Mr.  Bellars.  I 
thought  of  Mr.  Falsworth,  and  how  he  would  feel  on  his 
return.  To  be  with  Senator  Bellars  would  be  a  protection 
to  me — would  be  a  protection  to  us  both.  As  I  hesitated, 
the  thought  of  how  Will  would  look  when  he  came  in  and 
found  me  gone  up-stairs  flashed  over  my  mind,  and  I  re- 
fused Senator  Bellars's  offer.  He  didn't  urge  me.  He  never 
urged  anybody.  He  was  a  leader;  he  just  pointed  the  way 
and  the  means  and  went  on;  the  others  could  do  as  they 
liked. 

Before  I  left  the  room  the  other  gentleman  had  left  his 
chair  and  stood  near  us  by  the  table.  He  was  fully  six  feet 
tall,  and  very  thin  and  bowed  at  the  shoulders.  It  was  a  hot 
day,  and  he  wore  a  white  flannel  suit  and  a  red  tie.  His  face 
was  burned  very  brown,  and  he  had  a  dark  beard  and  thick, 
straight  hair.  His  face  was  slender  and  his  eyes  were  big 
and  dark.  I  noticed  his  hand  as  he  stood  playing  with  a 
paper-cutter  as  Senator  Bellars  talked  with  me.  It  was  a 
thin,  brown  hand,  and,  like  the  rest  of  him,  very  nervous. 
He  wore  a  dark  seal  ring.  Senator  Bellars  didn't  speak  to 
him,  but  when  I  went  out  I  knew  it  was  Mr.  Kirkland,  and 
that  he  had  decided  to  take  his  uncle's  advice  and  come  on 
over  to  New  York. 


CHAPTER  V 

HE  next  time  I  saw  Mr.  Kirkland  was  when 
he  came  into  my  office,  a  few  weeks  later, 
with  some  work,  and  he  stayed  for  a  while 
talking  to  Miss  Long  and  complimenting  the 
view  from  our  windows.  "It  would  make  a 
splendid  room  for  a  studio,"  he  said.  Mr.  Kirkland  smoked 
a  long,  black  cigarette.  I  had  never  seen  one  before;  they  are 
Italian  or  Swiss  make.  After  that  I  never  saw  him  without 
one  in  his  mouth  or  his  hand.  Those  long,  thin,  black 
cigarettes  are  as  much  a  part  of  Stephen  Kirkland  to  me 
now  as  his  thick,  straight  hair  and  his  thin,  brown  face.  He 
interested  me  as  he  talked  there  with  Miss  Long,  though 
I  felt  it  was  a  kind  of  disloyalty  to  know  as  much  about  him 
as  I  did — a  sort  of  professional  disloyalty;  just  the  same  it 
made  me  feel  real  mad  with  his  uncle,  when  I  remembered 
what  I  had  written  about  "drink  and  cards  and  women!" 
While  I  remembered  these  things,  Mr.  Kirkland  was  talk- 
ing with  Miss  Long,  and  I  noticed  that  he  had  a  kind  laugh, 
like  a  boy's,  and  was  the  most  mannered  man  I  ever  saw — 
real  old-fashioned  polite.  He  spoke  to  my  typewriter  as 
though  she  were  a  friend  of  his  on  whom  he  was  making  a 
society  call,  holding  his  long  cigarette  in  his  hand  and  not 
smoking,  just  out  of  politeness.  I  noticed,  too,  that  his  hair 
was  a  little  gray  at  the  temples,  and  he  was  awfully  slender. 
It  was  keeping  on  hot,  and  this  day  he  had  on  flannel 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

clothes  and  carried  an  old  and  very  dirty  straw  hat  under 
his  arm — his  shoes  weren't  polished  like  Will's. 

Mr.  Kirkland  strolled  to  the  big  window  as  though  there 
was  nobody  but  himself  in  the  office,  and,  smiling  and  smok- 
ing, he  looked  out  as  though  he  were  studying  the  view. 
Then  he  said  to  me — I  noticed  especially  it  wasn't  to  Miss 
Long: 

"Imperial  spires  and  terraced  roofs,  broad  bay  and  hos- 
pitable sea — what  are  they  going  to  make  of  it  all,  Miss 
Carey  ?" 

I  told  him  I  heard  that  they  were  going  to  tear  down  the 
house  next  to  us  and  build  an  office  building  eighteen  stories 
high. 

" Perfectly  horrible!"  he  exclaimed,  laughing.  "Too,  too 
horrible!  If  they  could  tear  us  all  down,  now,  and  build 
us  up,  why,  that  might  be  worth  while." 

Then  he  went  out,  and  Miss  Long  said: 

"Oh,  isn't  he  perfectly  charming,  Miss  Carey  ?  So  hand- 
some, and  so  queer!  I  guess  he's  travelled  a  great  deal,  don't 
you  ?  He  looks  as  though  he  spoke  French." 

Miss  Long  couldn't  read  his  handwriting,  and  I  had  to 
take  his  work  home  and  do  it  myself  out  at  Brackettsville  on 
my  other  machine.  It  was  awfully  bad  copy,  for  there  were 
a  lot  of  French  words  running  through;  but  I  had  a  French 
dictionary  and  looked  them  up,  and  got  some  right  and  left 
blanks  for  the  others.  The  paper  was  an  essay  called  "The 
Psychics  of  Art."  Mr.  Kirkland  called  for  it  next  day 
when  the  girls  were  out  for  lunch,  and  I  knew  there  was 
something  wrong  with  him  the  minute  he  came  in.  He 
was  as  pale  as  death,  and  his  eyes  as  red  as  his  cravat. 

Mr.  Kirkland  wasn't  the  first  man  I  had  come  across 
under  the  influence  of  liquor,  but  the  others  had  only  dis- 
18 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

gusted  me,  whereas  I  felt  sorry  for  this  one.  He  was  able 
to  talk,  though  his  voice  was  excited,  and,  as  he  had  done 
before,  he  went  over  and  stood  in  the  window  and  began  to 
go  on  about  the  view.  Standing  there,  he  gave  me  a  little 
talk  like  a  lecture  on  "The  Psychics  of  Art."  It  was  lovely. 
I  understood  it  every  bit,  and  I  didn't  dare  interrupt  or  ask 
him  to  go  because  I  was  afraid  he  would  change  his  mood 
and  be  disagreeable.  It  happened  to  be  a  quiet  time,  no  one 
coming  in,  and  when  he  had  finished  he  went  over  and 
drank  two  glasses  of  ice-water. 

"I've  never  had  a  better  audience,  Miss  Carey,  and  yet 
I  have  lectured  before  some  of  the  'Faubourg'  St.  Germain 
in  Paris." 

I  hoped  he  wasn't  going  up  to  his  uncle  like  he  was.  It 
wasn't  any  of  my  business;  still,  somehow,  I  didn't  want 
him  to  go,  and  it  was  a  relief  when  he  stopped  on  the  door- 
sill  and  turned  to  me. 

"I'd  like  to  take  a  walk,  and  I'd  like  you  to  go  with  me. 
Maiden,"  he  asked,  just  like  out  of  a  book,  "will  you  be 
my  staff?" 

I  put  on  my  hat,  and,  without  thinking  twice,  went  out 
with  Mr.  Kirkland.  It  was  the  hour  when  the  Wall  Street 
men  are  at  lunch,  and  the  clerks  and  the  girls  coming  in;  I 
met  several  I  knew,  but  I  was  a  little  behind  Mr.  Kirkland, 
and  no  one  thought  anything  about  us,  anyhow.  When  we 
got  into  the  street  he  led  the  way,  and  we  went  to  the  Bat- 
tery. 

I  would  rather  not  have  gone  that  direction,  but  I  didn't 
say  anything,  and  when  Mr.  Kirkland  staggered  I  caught 
his  arm  and  gave  him  his  balance.  Then  he  took  my  arm 
and  walked  so,  though  I  was  quite  a  little  shorter  than  he. 
Down  to  Castle  Garden  we  went,  just  as  I  had  gone  before 
3  19 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

with  Will,  only  it  was  as  different  as  night  and  day.  As  I 
look  back  I  cannot  think  how  I  ever  came  to  go!  He  was 
talking  all  the  time  about  "Madonna  eyes"  and  stars  and 
poetry,  and  he  recited  a  verse  or  two  every  now  and  then. 
I  never  heard  a  man  like  this  when  he  was  intoxicated. 
There  was  nothing  disgusting  about  it;  but  by  the  time  we 
got  down  to  Bowling  Green  Park  he  could  hardly  stand, 
and  I  made  him  sit  down  on  a  bench,  and,  as  I  had  done 
with  Will  Falsworth,  I  sat  down  by  Mr.  Kirkland's  side. 
He  had  a  beautiful  smile.  It  was  really  the  best  of  the  good- 
looking  things  about  him.  Then  he  said  to  me : 

"Were  these  the  ways  of  life  to  thee 
That  led  thee  from  the  fragrant  dell  .  .  .  ?" 

He  asked  me  this  question  so  many  times  that  I  learned 
the  two  lines  by  heart. 

"There's  a  very  good  idea  for  a  poem  there,"  he  stam- 
mered. "I  shall  call  you  Penelope.  You  seem  to  me  to 
have  been  formed  to  sit  and  spin — to  weave  and  spin  against 
fate." 

He  asked  me  if  I  knew  anything  about  Penelope. 

"I  shall  give  you  the  Odyssey  to-morrow.  To-morrow 
— and  to-morrow — and  to-morrow." 

After  a  little  I  saw  that  he  was  going  to  sleep.  I  kept 
thinking  all  the  time  of  Senator  Bellars  and  of  his  letter  to 
Mr.  Kirkland,  and  what  the  result  would  be  if  he  should 
see  his  nephew  in  this  state.  I  felt  awfully  sorry  for  him. 
It  was  dreadfully  hot,  but  our  seat  was  in  the  shade.  When 
he  couldn't  sit  up  any  longer  he  leaned  on  my  shoulder  and 
I  let  him,  and  when  he  had  gone  off  sound  asleep  I  made 
him  as  comfortable  as  I  could  and  held  the  umbrella  over 
him  for  a  long  time.  No  one  bothered  us.  It's  funny  how 

20 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

little  any  one  matters  to  the  folks  around  unless  they  give 
trouble!  I  couldn't  help  but  smile  when  I  thought  how 
different  this  spree  of  mine  was  from  the  other.  Mr.  Fals- 
worth  seemed  so  strong  and  Mr.  Kirkland  seemed  so  weak. 

Will  had  written  me  two  or  three  times  a  day  ever  since 
he  left  New  York  and  sent  me  a  pile  of  telegrams.  Of 
course,  I  hadn't  written  one  word  to  him. 

I  didn't  mean  that  Mr.  Kirkland  should  wake  up  and  find 
me  there,  for  I  was  sure  he  would  rouse  sober  and  be  able 
to  look  after  himself.  So  I  got  him  finally  laid  down  on  the 
bench  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hat,  and  then  went  away 
and  sat  over  where  it  was  easy  to  see  him  wake  up,  which  he 
did  about  four  o'clock,  dazed  and  looking  all  around  in  sur- 
prise, and  stretching  out  his  arms.  He  was  all  right,  that 
was  plain,  and  I  got  a  sandwich  and  a  glass  of  milk  in  the 
German  restaurant,  and  returned  to  the  office  in  time  to 
close  up. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  makes  things  easier  in  your  work  if  you 
are  your  own  mistress,  and  nobody  had  a 
right  to  ask  me  a  question.  The  girls  told 
me  Mr.  Falsworth  had  been  in,  and  on  my 
machine  was  a  note  in  pencil  from  him;  but 
I  didn't  read  it.  I  kept  it  until  I  got  out  home  and  was  in 
my  room  alone.  Will  always  made  me  a  little  afraid,  he 
seemed  so  strong  and  so  set  on  what  he  wanted.  His  letters 
and  his  telegrams  were  like  fire;  and  when  I  threw  them  into 
the  kitchen  stove  they  curled  round  like  they  would  burn 
the  flames  instead  of  being  burned! 

On  my  machine  the  next  day  was  a  bunch  of  flowers.  I 
got  in  early  before  the  girls  and  put  them  in  water,  and  Will 
came  later.  We  shook  hands,  and  I  didn't  know  how  glad 
I'd  be  to  see  him  until  he  stood  there  so  bright  in  his  blue 
serge  clothes,  in  his  fresh  linen,  and  his  face  shining  hap- 
piness and  joy.  He  hurt  my  hand  so  that  it  ached  for  a  long 
time  afterward.  I  often  thought  it  was  very  funny  that  no- 
body said  or  breathed  a  word  against  me,  or  that  the  girls 
themselves  didn't  think  a  thing;  but  it  is  true — no  one  ever 
did. 

At  the  doorway  out  in  the  hall  I  said  to  Will : 

"You  mustn't  give  me  any  more  flowers.  It's  against  my 
rules." 

"Why,  I  didn't  send  you  any  flowers.     I  wouldn't  have 

22 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

dared  to  send  them  here."  And  his  whole  face  changed. 
"Who  the  devil  did,  though?"  And  he  gripped  my  arm. 
"I  have  been  gone  ten  mortal  weeks,  and  you  have  never 
written  me  a  line  or  a  word.  Now,  if  this  is  a  case  of  man, 
Esther,  I'm  likely  to  make  short  work  of  him  right  here  in 
this  building." 

I  must  have  turned  white  and  looked  very  angry,  for  he 
stopped  and  laughed.  "There,  there,  that's  all  right,  little 
girl.  Go  back  in  or  somebody  will  see  us.  But  this  shows 
you  how  I  feel." 

I  couldn't  tell  him  then  how  he  made  me  feel,  for  I  had 
to  go  back  and  write  for  hours  on  a  contract  for  the  buying 
up  of  wheat-fields  in  some  Western  State.  I  never  looked 
once  over  to  the  flowers  in  my  ice-water  glass. 

After  a  while  Miss  Long  said:  "It's  so  hot  in  here,  Miss 
Carey,  and  the  lilies  smell  so  awfully  strong." 

I  told  her  to  throw  them  out  if  she  liked.  But  she  stood 
them  on  the  window-sill  instead,  and  it  made  me  feel  as  if 
I  were  taking  advantage  of  a  poor  weak  thing  that  couldn't 
speak  for  itself  when  they  put  the  lilies  out-of-doors. 

I  took  a  letter  about  then  for  Senator  Bellars,  and 
he  was  as  cold  and  distant  to  me  as  if  he  had  never 
seen  me  before.  But  I  did  my  work  for  him  the  best  I  could 
with  especial  care,  and  his  work  interested  me  more  even 
than  Will's  business  letters  and  contracts.  He  dictated  an- 
other letter  to  his  sister  in  San  Francisco: 

"Stephen  has  decided  to  pick  up  here.  He  is  in  my  office 
for  the  present;  we'll  see  how  it  turns  out.  I  have  already 
given  him  the  charge  of  important  matters,  and  his  handling 
of  them  is  masterly.  He's  got  something  of  the  same  kind 
of  mind  that  I  have,  only  my  mind  is  fixed  on  tight,  and 
23 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Stephen's  turns  on  a  pivot.  He's  got  twice  my  education 
and  talent,  but  he  lacks  a  compass,  and  will  be  a  hopeless 
derelict  if  he  doesn't  find  his  chart  pretty  quick.  They 
haven't  brought  him  home  drunk  yet,  though,  and  I  hear  no 
tales  against  him.  For  his  mother's  sake  I'll  be  as  patient 
as  I  can,  and  if  Stephen  continues  steady  and  stands  by  me 
he  will  be  invaluable  in  the  next  campaign.  He  can  get 
anywhere  he  likes  if  he  has  the  grit  and  the  control.  Of 
course,  he's  no  painter!  He  is  really  a  born  politician  with 
a  screw  loose.  Now  the  question  is,  'Can  he  tighten  up  that 
screw?'  I  hope  so.  The  thing  he  needs  right  here  is  the 
right  woman.  It's  hard  to  think  of  any  one  who  would  be 
fool  enough  to  undertake  the  job.  She'll  have  to  be  rich, 
for  his  tastes  are  luxurious.  She  ought  to  be  in  the  social 
swim  to  pull  him  along  with  her.  He  goes  out  a  great  deal. 
He  is  very  popular  and  continually  with  the  Gandervelts, 
and  I  wish  that  Portia  would  marry  him.  I  shall  further 
it,  of  course." 


CHAPTER   VII 

HE  next  week,  Sunday  was  one  of  those  aw- 
fully hot  days,  and  I  got  up  early  to  go  out 
and  breathe.  Night  was  the  only  time  I  had 
to  see  about  my  own  affairs,  and  sometimes 
I  couldn't  sleep,  thinking  about  them  and 
thinking  about  Will.  I  walked  down  to  the  pond  this 
morning  early,  before  the  sun  got  red-hot.  It  was  lovely 
at  eight  o'clock,  and  I  sat  there  and  thought  how  queer  it 
was  that  Will  Falsworth  should  just  happen  to  be  married. 
I  knew  that  it  was  all  very,  very  wrong. 

I  got  rested  in  the  nice  air,  and  by-and-by  climbed  down 
into  the  old  scow  and  pushed  out  to  pick  some  water-lilies 
to  fetch  home. 

I  remember  very  well  what  I  had  on  that  day — a  plain 
blue  wash-dress,  with  a  blue  belt,  and  it  was  fresh  and  fitted 
me. 

As  I  started  home,  Fanny  was  coming  along  the  path  to 
find  me,  and  she  met  me  at  the  corner  of  the  street. 

"Say,  Esther,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  we  met,  "you've  got 
a  caller." 

My  heart  beat,  for  I  was  sure  it  was  Will  Falsworth,  and 
I  was  awfully  frightened. 
"Who  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  he's  awfully  stylish.  He's  sitting  on 
the  porch  with  the  boys." 

25 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

And  there  they  were  all  sitting  around  rocking  and  talking 
— Mr.  Kirkland  and  the  little  boys.  Mr.  Kirkland  was  per- 
fectly at  home.  I  introduced  him  to  Fanny.  He  looked 
tired  out,  his  linen  wasn't  very  tidy,  his  hair  was  too  long, 
his  beard  wasn't  trimmed,  and  his  old  clothes  needed  all 
kinds  of  care. 

"I've  been  telling  these  boys  about  Ulysses,  Miss  Carey. 
We  were  just  coming  out  of  the  Cyclops'  cave,  the  lot  of  us." 
The  boys  were  shy,  and  not  used  to  having  stories  told 
them.  "And  you  can  go  on  with  the  adventure  after  you 
have  read  this." 

He  gave  me  a  book — it  was  the  Odyssey,  and,  though  he 
didn't  say  a  word,  I  understood  that  he  remembered  about 
our  own  queer  adventure. 

Fanny  took  it  for  granted  that  Mr.  Kirkland  was  calling 
on  me,  so  she  went  and  sat  down  on  the  porch  steps,  and 
the  boys  played  baseball  near  us  in  the  vacant  lot.  He  lit 
his  long,  black  cigarette,  and  smoked  and  rocked  in  the 
green  rocker  while  I  sat  in  another  with  the  lilies  across  my 
knees.  I  can  smell  them  now,  and  smell  his  black  cigarette. 
I  was  waiting  for  him  to  speak  of  the  work  he  had  brought. 

"I  like  it  out  here  immensely,"  he  said,  and  looked  around 
at  what  he  could  see  of  Brackettsville  from  our  piazza. 
"It's  so  remote — so  unique." 

There  were  twenty  houses  like  ours  in  the  same  street. 
At  the  end  of  the  street  was  Farmer's  Pond,  where  I  had 
been  that  morning,  and  a  little  bit  of  woods,  but  he  couldn't 
see  those.  Everybody  was  out  on  the  front  steps  or  in  the 
yard,  it  was  so  fearfully  hot,  and  I  didn't  think  it  was  a  bit 
"remote." 

"There's  something  about  it,"  he  went  on,  "that  brings 
me  peace." 

26 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  asked  me  about  the  population  and  the  climate,  and 
then  smoked  for  a  little  while.  I  didn't  know  what  to  say. 
I  must  have  been  wondering  why  he  had  come  out,  when  he 
asked  me: 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Madonna  of  the  lilies?" 

And  when  I  said  I  was  wondering  if  he  had  brought  me 
extra  work  to  do,  he  laughed  out  loud. 

"  Work!  Does  Labor  pursue  us  even  to  this  garden — to 
this  temple — to  this  Elysium  ?" 

He  took  a  fresh  cigarette  and  lit  that,  while  the  other  was 
still  going,  and  threw  the  old  one  down  and  stamped  it  out. 
It  looked  dreadfully  untidy  on  the  piazza,  but  I  didn't  say 
anything. 

"You  think  I  am  a  little  crazy,  don't  you,  Miss  Carey?" 

"No,  not  at  all." 

"Come,  now,  what  do  you  think  ?     Tell  me." 

He  hadn't  the  least  idea  how  timid  I  was  or  how  em- 
barrassed—  how,  knowing  all  I  did  about  him,  it  seemed 
too  strange  for  anything  to  have  him  sit  there,  smiling  and 
going  on. 

"Come,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

"I  think  you're  joking." 

"Never  mind — never  mind.  I  won't  bother  you  about 
it.  Only,  I  am  not  joking;  crazy,  perhaps,  and  all  the  rest, 
but  I'm  the  most  deadly  serious  person  you  ever  saw,  my 
dear  girl." 

Although  he  called  me  these  queer  names,  his  man- 
ners were  delightful.  He  had  a  way  of  bowing  like  a 
king. 

"  I  would  like  to  live  here  in  this  wilderness,  Miss  Carey 
— have  a  tent  here  and  dream." 

I  said  Brackettsville  didn't  seem  much  like  a  wilderness 
27 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

to  me — it  was  too  hot  and  noisy;  and  Mr.  Kirkland  replied 
that  the  term  was  relative. 

"The  mid-Sahara  is  full  of  voices,  and  there  is  no  greater 
wilderness  than  the  human  heart." 

Then  he  asked  about  each  of  the  boys,  and  where  they 
went  to  school,  how  old  they  were,  and  what  they  wanted 
to  do.  I  told  him  as  soon  as  they  had  finished  the  public 
school  we  would  get  them  work  in  New  York. 

"One  of  them — Tommy,  I  think — wants  to  go  to  West 
Point." 

My  smile  was  a  little  sour  then. 

"And  the  others  want  to  be  kings,"  I  said,  "don't 
they?" 

Mr.  Kirkland  looked  reproachfully  at  me.  "Well,  they 
didn't  tell  me  so." 

He  had  spread  one  of  his  hands  on  the  arm  of  the  big 
green  rocker.  It  was  a  broad,  flat  rest,  where  the  boys 
used  to  cut  things  in  deep  with  their  knives  and  soft  pencils. 
After  a  second  he  lifted  up  his  hand,  and,  as  he  looked  down 
at  the  palm,  he  said: 

"By  jove,  that's  a  queer  thing!"  And  he  held  his  palm 
out  flat  to  me.  There  was  a  name  written  across  the  palm 
as  clear  as  clear. 

"Could  you  get  a  little  hand-glass,  Miss  Carey?     Do." 

I  gave  him  the  pocket-glass  out  of  my  purse  that  was  in 
the  hallway  on  the  rack,  and  he  read  the  name  written  across 
his  hand:  "Esther  Merle  Carey." 

I  blushed  like  fire.  "The  boys  wrote  it — they  write  over 
everything.  Won't  you  come  in  and  wash  it  off?" 

He  looked  at  it  a  long  time. 

"Curious — curious  beyond  words!   Now,  if  I  had  never 
seen  you,  it  would  have  been  more  romantic  still!" 
28 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  refused  to  wash  it  off  or  wipe  it  off — just  laughed,  look- 
ing down  from  time  to  time,  and  said,  at  length: 

"  But  that's  not  a  boy's  writing,  Miss  Carey." 

It  was  Will  Falsworth's.  When  he  came  out  once  to 
Brackettsville,  on  a  Sunday,  I  had  gone  in  to  town  with 
Tommy  to  the  dentist's  and  didn't  see  him,  and  there,  as  he 
waited  on  the  piazza,  he  must  have  scribbled  my  name.  It 
was  very  queer  to  see  it  written  across  Mr.  Kirkland's  hand, 
all  stained  with  tobacco. 

I  reminded  him  about  the  work,  and  he  answered: 

"Yes,  I  brought  you  out  a  lot  of  work,  but  I  won't  give 
it  to  you- to-day." 

I  told  him  that  my  machine  was  here,  and  that  I  could  do 
it  at  once. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  will  give  it  to  you  at  all,  or  that  it  is 
worth  while." 

I  saw  that  he  was  still  joking,  and  I  sat  looking  out  over 
the  yard  where  the  boys  were  yelling  "First  base!"  "Low 
ball!"  and  "Foul!"  I  hoped  he  would  go  before  dinner,  for 
I  would  have  been  ashamed  to  have  him  stay.  I  was  glad 
he  hadn't  spoken  of  our  walk;  it  was  very  sensible  of  him 
to  just  refer  to  it  in  a  pleasant,  easy  way  with  the  flowers  and 
the  book  he  had  brought  me.  As  I  was  thinking  of  this  and 
hoping  he  would  go,  I  saw  some  one  coming  down  the  street 
from  the  railway  station.  It  was  Will  Falsworth.  For  a 
moment  I  was  scared  to  death.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
would  freeze,  for,  hot  as  it  was,  I  grew  cold,  and  I  couldn't 
move  hand  or  foot  until  Mr.  Falsworth  came  up  the 
steps  straight  to  where  we  sat  rocking.  I  didn't  have 
to  introduce  them  —  they  knew  each  other.  Mr.  Kirk- 
land  got  up  as  polite  and  as  smiling  and  as  gentleman- 
ly, and  Will  nodded  to  him  and  was  dreadfully  rude, 
29. 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

and  I  never  felt  so  small   and   stupid   as   I  did   between 
them. 

Mr.  Kirkland  offered  one  of  his  queer  cigarettes,  and  Will 
laughed  harshly  and  refused. 

"No  foreign  stuff  for  me,  thanks."  He  leaned  back  on 
the  porch-rail  as  white  as  a  ghost. 

Fanny  came  up  just  then,  and  the  boys,  too,  hot  and  dusty, 
and  asked  if  they  couldn't  have  some  lemonade,  and  I  was 
going  in  to  make  it  for  them  when  Mr.  Kirkland  said  good- 
bye. He  left  cheerful  and  pleasant,  and  the  little  boys  went 
down  to  the  gate  with  him.  When  he  had  really  gone,  Will 
said  to  me : 

"Let  your  sister  go  in  and  make  the  lemonade,  and  you 
stay  out  here  with  me." 

I  was  glad  to  see  him  even  if  he  had  been  mad  and  rude. 
He  looked  so  cool  and  clean. 

"  Find  your  hat,  Esther,  and  let's  get  out  of  this  infernal 
street  with  its  clatter,  and  go  down  to  the  pond."  And  it 
made  me  smile  to  think  our  front  porch  wasn't  remote 
enough  or  wilderness  enough  for  Will. 

No  one  was  around  when  we  got  down  to  the  water,  and 
we  sat  by  the  edge  over  near  the  woods,  and  I  kept  off  the 
mosquitoes  with  Will's  hat. 

"What  was  that  man  here  for,  Esther?" 

"He  came  to  bring  me  out  some  work." 

"I  don't  believe  it.  A  man  like  Kirkland  doesn't  carry 
copy  to  his  stenographer." 

"Well,  you  don't  suppose  he  came  to  call  on  me,  do 
you  ?" 

"Just  that,  and  he  mustn't  come  here  again." 

I  spoke,  thinking  out  my  words,  for  it  was  always  hard 
for  me  to  talk. 

30 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  thought,  seeing  you  here, 
Will  ?" 

"I  was  going  to  say  that  I  didn't  care  what  he  thought, 
Esther,  but  that  wouldn't  be  true." 

"You  didn't  act  that  way." 

"No,  I  did  not,  and  if  I  come  across  Kirkland  with  you, 
I'm  not  likely  to  leave  him  in  ignorance  of  how  I  feel.  He 
would  compromise  any  decent  woman  he  was  seen  with. 
Do  you  know  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is  ?"  (I  knew  better 
than  Will  did.)  "He's  a  drunken  brute,  a  rake,  and  a 
gambler." 

His  attack  on  Mr.  Kirkland  made  me  angry. 

"I  don't  see  so  much  of  you,  Will,  that  it  is  worth  while 
to  talk  of  another  man  and  run  him  down." 

"There,"  he  cried,  "stand  up  for  him;  that  puts  the 
finish  to  it,  Esther!  /  don't  run  him  down;  he  has  run 
himself  down  into  the  gutter  long  ago." 

I  asked  him  to  tell  me  something  about  his  Western  trip, 
and  then  he  turned  to  me  and  begged  my  pardon  for  his 
crossness,  and,  when  he  finished  talking  to  me,  he  said: 

"That  drunken  chap  is  free  to  marry  you,  and  it  makes 
me  crazy  to  see  another  man  near  you.  No  man  could  see 
you  in  that  blue  dress  with  those  lilies  in  your  lap  and  not  be 
wild  about  you.  You  don't  know  what  a  woman  you  are, 
Esther!" 

I  know  that  Will  thought  a  lot  of  foolish  stuff,  and  I  was 
troubled  more  than  ever  that  day  as  to  what  was  going  to 
happen  to  me  if  he  kept  on,  for  when  I  was  with  him  I  forgot 
everything  else,  or  that  there  was  any  reason  why  I  couldn't 
go  away  with  him,  as  he  said,  to  some  other  country  and  let 
him  give  me  pretty  things. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

ENATOR  BELLARS  was  most  of  the  time 
in  Washington,  and  Mr.  Kirkland  had  charge 
of  the  New  York  office.  We  were  awfully 
rushed  that  summer,  and  I  went  a  great  deal 
to  court  to  take  evidence  for  Mr.  Falsworth, 
and  Mr.  Kirkland  brought  us  in  all  his  literary  work  to  do. 
The  girls  were  crazy  about  him,  he  was  so  kind  and  pleasant, 
and  always  making  curious  remarks.  He  talked  like  a 
book,  and,  if  he  hadn't  been  so  kind,  you  would  have  thought 
he  was  making  fun  of  everybody.  He  kept  sending  me 
books  one  after  another,  and  I  read  them  on  the  ferry  and 
in  the  train.  I  never  knew  how  fond  I  was  of  reading  till 
then.  Mr.  Kirkland  chose  exactly  the  kind  I  liked;  they 
seemed  real.  The  first  one  he  gave  me  was  new  at  the 
time — Anna  Karenina.  I  had  read  Dickens  and  Scott,  but 
this  was  the  first  modern  novel  I  had  found  time  to  read. 
One  day  I  was  going  along  Chambers  Street  to  the  ferry, 
too  early  for  my  train,  and  Mr,  Kirkland  came  up  and 
walked  by  my  side. 

"Did  you  read  the  Odyssey?" 
"Yes.     I  liked  it  very  much." 
"  Did  you  see  your  resemblance,  Penelope  ?" 
I  said  that  I  had  not, 

"I  would  like  to  paint  it.     I'd  like  to  paint  the  picture  of 
you  in  Brackettsville — in  the  wilderness — only  they  tell  me 
32 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I'm  a  very  poor  painter.  I've  given  up  art — that  is,  paint- 
ing, at  any  rate.  What  do  you  think  of  Anna  Karenina  ?" 

I  told  him  that  she  was  a  real  woman  and  that  I  liked  her, 
and  I  didn't  understand  things  that  were  only  pictures — 
nothing  more. 

"That  novel  is  like  a  great  thunder-storm,"  he  said.  "It 
clears  the  air,  and  yet  it  stirs  the  emotions." 

"I  don't  think,"  I  said  to  Mr.  Kirkland,  "that  it  paid." 

"Didn't  pay  to  write?" 

And  I  said,  "No,  for  Anna  to  do  what  she  did." 

He  smiled  very  broadly  and  looked  real  pleased,  and  said: 

"Of  course  not.  But  a  little  philosophy  would  be  fatal 
to  any  real  love-affair." 

He  walked  with  me  all  the  way  to  the  ferry,  and  crossed 
on  it  with  me  all  the  way  to  my  train.  We  watched  the  sun- 
set from  the  front  of  the  boat,  and  he  told  me  about  Europe, 
and  how  cool  it  is  over  there  in  summer,  and  how  pretty. 

"But  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  I  never  saw  the  Old 
World  again,  Miss  Carey." 

And  I  told  him  that  he  seemed  so  foreign  it  was  hard  to 
believe  that  he  wouldn't  go  back. 

"I've  been  caught  in  the  spoke  of  a  great  wheel,  and  it 
is  flinging  me  hard.  It  may  break  me  or  it  may  fling  me 
somewhere  where  I'll  stick  and  stay,  but  eventually  /  shall 
stick  here."  He  meant  the  United  States. 

When  we  got  to  my  train  he  stopped  until  it  went  out. 
He  still  wore  the  same  old  flannel  clothes,  but  he  waited 
there,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  smiling  at  me  and  bowing  to  me 
so  politely  that  he  looked  more  like  a  count,  I  thought,  than 
an  American  business  man.  I  found  out  that  he  had  slipped 
a  big  basket  of  peaches  on  the  train  for  the  little  boys.  The 
next  day  he  went  out  to  Brackettsville  and  took  the  little 
33 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

boys  "up  creek"  fishing,  and  they  ate  the  peaches  and  were 
awfully  sick  that  night.  They  were  crazy  about  him. 

And  I  felt  sorry  for  him. 

He  came  in  a  few  days  afterward,  just  as  I  was  closing 
up  the  office.  Senator  Bellars  was  in  New  York  attend- 
ing a  directors'  meeting,  and  I  had  been  writing  up  in  his 
office  that  afternoon. 

"Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  come  up  again  at  once  ?" 
Mr.  Kirkland  asked  me.  "My  uncle  wants  to  see  you." 

But  when  I  had  followed  him  out  as  far  as  the  elevator  he 
stopped  me. 

"Don't  go  up."  And  he  stared  at  me  strangely.  His 
eyes  were  like  the  pictures  of  a  man  in  torture.  "My  uncle 
doesn't  want  you.  I  do." 

I  honestly  thought  he  was  crazy,  especially  when  he  put 
his  hand  on  me  with  the  same  kind  of  grip  that  Will  Fals- 
worth  had  done. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  to  come  with  me — to  come  out  and 
walk  with  me.  Don't  refuse." 

He  shook  me  a  little.  He  didn't  make  any  excuse  or  any 
threat;  but  I  was  perfectly  sure  if  I  didn't  go,  it  was  all  up 
with  him.  I  had  my  hat  on — I  was  all  ready  to  leave  the 
building. 

"All  right,"  I  answered.  And  we  went  right  down  in  the 
elevator  to  the  street. 

It  was  after  six  o'clock.  I  don't  know  what  he  thought 
I  was  made  of.  I  guess  he  never  thought  about  me  at  all, 
except  as  a  sort  of  flesh-and-blood  staffer  cane.  We  started 
up  Broadway,  cut  through  to  the  west,  and  walked  up 
through  Sixth  Avenue  to  Fifty-ninth  Street,  and  crossed  to 
the  Park.  It  was  hot  and  dusty.  A  man  was  selling 
lemonade  at  the  gate.  Mr.  Kirkland  hadn't  said  one  word. 
34 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

I  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  have  some  lemonade,  and  he 
stared  back  at  me  and  said,  under  his  breath,  "My  God!"— 
nothing  more.  He  drank  four  glasses  of  lemonade,  and  then 
we  walked  on.  The  Park  was  quite  full,  the  children  were 
skipping  ropes  and  rolling  hoops,  and  he  stopped  and  looked 
at  them,  smiling.  I  could  see  that  he  liked  children.  He 
didn't  notice  anything  else.  We  walked  to  Seventy-second 
Street,  through  to  Fifth  Avenue.  I  was  a  very  strong  girl, 
but  I  had  gotten  up  that  day  at  six  to  do  things  in  the  house 
and  take  my  early  train,  and  I  had  worked  all  day.  I 
could  see  that  his  face  was  set,  but  it  didn't  seem  white; 
it  seemed  black,  as  if  it  had  been  forged  out  of  iron.  "It's 
far  worse  for  him  than  for  me,"  I  thought,  and  it  kept  me  up. 
My  legs  soon  got  just  like  cotton  and  my  feet  like  air- 
cushions,  and  by  the  time  night  really  came  I  actually  don't 
know  where  we  went. 

By-and-by  we  got  in  a  stage  and  rode.  Then  we  got  in  a 
car,  and  by-and-by  he  was  putting  me  on  my  train  over  in 
Hoboken  and  waiting  just  as  he  had  waited  that  other  night. 
And  he  was  smiling  again.  His  face  had  sort  of  broken  up 
and  softened,  and  I  could  see  that  the  horror  had  passed,  for 
the  time  at  least,  and  I  was  so  glad!  I  fell  asleep  on  the 
train.  The  conductor  knew  me,  and  woke  me  up  at  Brack- 
ettsville.  I  took  a  hack  home,  and  it  was  past  one  o'clock 
when  I  got  in  the  house. 


CHAPTER   IX 

ILL  was  writing  me    all  the  time.     I   had 

little  opportunity  to  see  anybody.     I  wouldn't 
$  let  him   come  out  to    Brackettsville,  and   I 

wouldn't  see  him  anywhere  but  in  the  office. 

If  I  was  busy  he  would  stay  on  until  I  was  free, 
and  it  used  to  make  me  so  wild  and  nervous  that  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do,  and  Miss  Long  and  Miss  Frame  began  to  notice. 
Miss  Long  had  broken  off  with  her  young  man,  and  had  time 
to  be  jealous  and  suspicious  of  everybody.  At  last,  in  order 
to  put  a  stop  to  things,  I  said  that  I  would  go  with  him  to 
the  Park  and  Museum  on  Saturday  afternoon.  He  met  me 
up  on  Madison  Avenue,  and  was  waiting  at  the  curb  as  I  got 
off  the  car.  He  had  a  hansom-cab  waiting,  and  I  couldn't 
but  think  of  the  difference  between  this  excursion  to  the 
Park  and  the  other.  Will  had  lovely  flowers  for  me;  they 
were  so  sweet  and  dainty.  I  shall  never  forget  that  Saturday 
afternoon  as  long  as  I  live. 

Some  things  stand  out  in  a  woman's  life  as  if  they  were 
magic  things,  and  no  matter  how  long  she  lives  or  what 
kind  of  a  life  she  leads  those  things  are  the  same  until  she 
is  old.  There  must  be  witchcraft  in  them,  I  think,  to 
fasten  so  to  the  mind — they  seem  to  keep  their  colors  and 
their  perfume,  and  to  be  alive  when  all  the  rest  is  dead.  I 
can  see  the  grass  now,  all  covered  with  sheep,  and  how  the 
trees  shone  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  bright  people  in  their 
36 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

summer  clothes,  and  how  the  road  ran  out  as  our  hansom 
drove  over  it.  It  was  my  first  ride  in  the  Park.  I  can  see 
Will,  so  big  and  strong  and  so  good-looking,  with  a  little  rose 
from  my  bouquet  in  his  buttonhole.  He  never  smoked  when 
he  was  with  me,  although  he  was  devoted  to  it.  He  said  he 
"never  smoked  with  a  woman  he  liked."  He  needed  all 
his  time  for  her. 

He  told  me  that  he  had  made  his  plans  to  leave  New  York 
for  good,  and  to  live  out  near  his  mines.  He  wanted  me  to  go 
with  him  the  next  week,  and  to  meet  him  at  the  Grand  Cen- 
tral Station  on  Thursday.  "Minnie  could  get  a  divorce," 
Will  said,  and  that  she  would  be  "glad  to  do  it,"  for  she 
never  cared  for  him  anyway,  and  his  "life  was  hell  with  her." 
Then  we  would  be  married,  and  I  could  have  the  boys  out 
there  with  me  and  could  look  out  for  them.  Will  talked 
about  this  perfectly  beautifully;  he  said  we  had  "a  right  to 
our  own  lives,"  both  of  us:  that  I  had  been  a  slave  ever  since 
I  was  fifteen,  and  he  was  going  to  set  me  free.  He  told  me 
he  would  make  a  wonderful  success  there  with  me  to  help 
him — "to  comfort  him."  He  repeated  that  sentence  a 
dozen  times.  He  said  there  wasn't  anything  in  his  love  for 
me  but  such  as  a  man  could  have  for  his  wife  and  the  mother 
of  his  children. 

I  didn't  say  anything. 

We  got  into  the  Museum  just  before  it  closed,  and  walked 
around  among  the  statues  and  the  pictures,  but  I  couldn't 
take  them  in  very  well.  It  wasn't  easy  to  think  of  art  with 
Will  bending  over  me  all  the  time.  I  didn't  think  of  Fanny  or 
the  little  boys,  or  duty,  or  mother  or  father,  or  right  or  wrong. 

"Minnie  isn't  a  human  woman  or  wife,  Esther.  How 
can  a  charity  enthusiast  living  on  Fifth  Avenue  know  what 
a  live  man  needs?" 

37 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Will  had  asked  me  to  wear  the  blue  dress,  and  I  had  done 
so.  By-and-by  we  came  up  to  a  certain  picture  Will  was 
trying  to  find. 

"There,"  he  nodded  (it  was  the  only  picture  he  had 
mentioned  or  that  he  had  seen  at  all)  —  "there,  Esther, 
that's  the  ideal  thing — that  is  the  whole  game!" 

It  was  a  picture  of  a  soldier  in  the  old  days,  coming  home 
from  the  wars.  He  was  covered  with  laurels,  and  he  carried 
a  lot  of  wreaths  on  his  arms;  but  he  was  wounded,  and  a 
woman  was  close  to  his  left  side.  He  was  leaning  against 
her — her  arms  were  around  him. 

"There  she  is,"  Will  Falsworth  said,  "and  you  see  how 
he  brings  her  everything — his  victories  and  his  defeats." 

It  was  curious,  but  the  picture  made  me  think  for  a 
second,  not  of  Will  or  what  he  was  saying,  but  of  the  night  I 
had  walked  out  of  the  Park  entrance,  Mr.  Kirkland  leaning 
on  my  shoulder  with  his  heavy  hand;  but  I  didn't  think  of 
him  long,  for  Will  led  me  on,  and  by  the  time  he  had  put 
me  in  the  hack  at  the  Brackettsville  station — for  he  never 
left  me  until  I  got  out  home — by  that  time  I  had  promised 
to  go  with  him  in  less  than  a  week. 


CHAPTER   X 

HE  next  day  at  the  office  I  heard  that  Mr. 
Kirkland  had  gone  to  Washington.  In  that 
week  I  wrote  up-stairs  for  Senator  Bellars. 
Sometimes  I  thought  I  had  no  right  to  be 
sitting  there  like  that,  and  letting  him  trust  me 
with  his  important  affairs.  Then  I  decided  that  business 
was  business  and  his  work  was  safe  with  me,  and  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  my  life,  anyhow.  He  was  dictating  some 
speeches  that  he  was  going  to  make  out  West  on  a  political 
tour.  They  were  splendid.  I  was  glad  to  take  them.  It 
helped  me  to  keep  from  thinking.  I  couldn't  look  at  Miss 
Long  and  Miss  Frame  half  the  time,  and  whenever  I  did  they 
seemed  to  reproach  me.  Each  morning  I  said,  "Well,  I  am 
going  to  tidy  up  the  office  work  to-day,  anyhow,"  and  I'd  put 
it  off  until  the  next  day  each  time.  Things  were  kept  pretty 
well  balanced,  though,  for  I  was  very  particular  about  it. 
There  were  only  a  few  outstanding  bills,  and  our  credit  was 
good. 

Will  kept  his  word  about  not  coming  into  the  office  or 
writing  me,  and  I  liked  him  better  and  better  for  it,  and 
whenever  I  had  a  minute  to  think  I  wished  he  would  come 
in — and  then  the  idea  of  him  scared  me  so  that  I  trembled 
at  my  machine.  I  went  up  Wednesday  for  the  last  dictation 
from  the  Senator.  He  said  the  work  was  excellent,  and,  as 
he  had  done  before,  he  gave  me  a  little  extra  check.  I 
39 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

refused  it  firmly  this  time.  First  of  all  I  said  to  him  I 
hadn't  earned  it;  then,  secondly,  I'd  been  overpaid  for  the 
work,  since  it  interested  me. 

He  put  down  the  paper  he  was  holding  and  looked  at  me, 
and  I  think  he  saw  me  then  for  the  first  time.  He  repeated : 

"Interested  you?  You  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  followed 
the  matter  of  the  work  ?  Why,  I  thought  you  were  a 
machine!" 

I  said  that  I  couldn't  help  reading  as  I  wrote,  and  when 
I  had  said  this  I  was  afraid  I  had  been  impertinent,  for  his 
face  changed,  and  it  made  me  glad  I  wasn't  going  to  do 
typewriting  any  more.  After  to-morrow  I  could  read  his 
speeches  and  think  what  I  liked. 

"I  thought  you  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  an  ignorant 
woman,"  he  grunted. 

"I  am  ignorant,  but  I  didn't  think  any  one  thought  it  was 
good  fortune." 

"Why,  it's  fatal,"  he  continued,  "for  a  woman  to  know 
more  than  to  cook  food  for  those  under  her  roof." 

I  don't  know  how  I  dared  to  answer  him,  but  I  did. 

"If  I  hadn't  known  a  little  more  than  that,  sir,  there 
wouldn't  have  been  any  food  under  our  roof  to  cook!" 

He  said:  "Nonsense.  Some  man  would  have  come  along 
and  brought  it  in  a  paper  bag,  and  the  woman  would  have 
been  kept  feminine  and  normal;  a  woman  should  be  an 
ignorant  machine  to  be  a  successful  factor  in  the  scheme 
of  life." 

This  was  Wednesday  night. 

I  went  to  bed  for  the  last  time  at  home.  I  was  to 
meet  Will  at  four  o'clock  the  next  day  at  the  Grand  Central. 

I  didn't  go. 

At  four  p'clock  I  sat  working  at  my  machine,  and  my  head 
40 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

ached  so  I  couldn't  see  the  keys.  Miss  Long  had  gone  to 
Senator  Bellars  to  tell  him  that  I  was  busy,  and  I  sent  Miss 
Frame  to  collect  some  bills  outside.  I  was  positive  Will 
would  come  directly  to  the  office.  I  would  have  to  bear  it 
alone.  I  could  hear  his  step  all  the  way  down  the  hall  on 
near  to  a  run.  He  slammed  the  door  so  the  glass  shook, 
and  the  letters,  "Miss  Esther  Carey,  Law  Stenographer," 
seemed  to  dance.  I  must  have  read  it  upside  down  a 
hundred  times  that  hour.  Will  threw  his  stick  and  gloves 
down  on  a  chair,  and  didn't  take  off  his  hat;  he  was  as  pale 
as  death. 

"So  you  have  cut  loose,  have  you  ?" 

His  eyes  seemed  to  be  on  fire. 

"Will,  I  couldn't  come." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it's  not  right!" 

He  laughed  dreadfully. 

"Oh,  that's  a  good  one!  Not  right?  It's  all  right  to 
treat  me  to  this,  I  suppose." 

My  mouth  was  as  dry  as  sawdust  and  my  lips  like  straw. 
He  had  never  been  rough  to  me  or  rude. 

"Now,  look  here."  He  was  more  quiet.  "You  don't 
want  to  drive  me  to  hell,  do  you,  little  girl  ?" 

And  I  answered:  "That's  just  where  I  would  drive  you 
if  we  did  this." 

"You  will,  if  you  don't,  Esther." 

I  must  have  looked  so  set  and  hard  at  him  that  he  lost 
hope  at  the  start;  but  he  argued  and  urged,  and  talked  and 
begged,  and  I  clasped  my  hands  in  my  lap  and  kept  saying 
over  and  over  to  myself,  "It  isn't  right — it  isn't  right." 

Will  got  wild  at  last,  and  jumped  up. 

"Very  well!"  he  cried.  "If  you're  so  good  as  all  this, 
41 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

you'll  have  to  take  the  consequences.  I  won't  live  without 
you." 

I  begged  him  to  go  home  and  get  rested,  and  to  quiet 
down  and  not  to  be  crazy  like  this.  We  would  talk  it  over. 
Somebody  would  come  in,  I  told  him. 

He  looked  at  me  in  a  way  I  shall  never  forget.  Then  he 
kissed  me,  and  walked  over  to  the  window  and  sort  of 
huddled  there.  As  we  stood  there  like  this,  both  of  us  so 
miserable,  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  Mr.  Kirkland, 
looking  startled. 

"I  thought  I  heard  you  call,  Miss  Carey,"  he  said,  and 
afterward  I  thought  how  strange  a  thing  it  was  to  say.  Then 
he  saw  Will  in  the  window.  Mr.  Kirkland  had  come  from 
Washington,  and  his  bag  was  in  his  hand.  "Is  this  man 
annoying  you  ?"  he  asked  me,  in  a  perfectly  awful  voice. 

"Oh,  no — no,"  I  said,  but  I  must  have  looked  queer 
enough. 

"I  don't  believe  you." 

I  told  him  it  was  all  right,  and  to  please  go  and  leave  us. 

"No,"  he  said,  in  the  same  impressive  voice,  "not 
until  your  companion  goes." 

Will  turned  around  then;  he  had  been  crying,  but  he  was 
so  angry  at  Mr.  Kirkland  that  it  gave  him  spunk  and  nerve. 

"Miss  Carey's  'companion'  will  go  when  he  gets  ready, 
and  he  doesn't  need  a  drunken  reprobate  to  send  him, 
either." 

Mr.  Kirkland  didn't  answer  him.  "I  shall  wait  outside, 
Miss  Carey,  while  you  talk  with  your  friend,  unless  you  ask 
me  to  stay,  which  I  am  quite  ready  to  do."  But  I  begged 
him  to  go,  and  he  went  out.  Then  Will  said  to  me: 

"You've  given  me  my  walking-papers  for  that  low 
reprobate!  That's  what  it  is.  I  am  going  now.  I  won't 
42 


A   SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

trouble  you  any  more,  Esther,  but  I  tell  you  to  look  out  for 
him.     Some  day  I  will  kill  him." 

I  was  trembling  so  and  so  faint  that  I  couldn't  find  any 
words  to  say,  and  I  didn't  want  Will  to  see  how  I  felt  or  how 
it  hurt  me  to  see  him  go  like  that — or  what  it  was  to  me  to 
see  him  go  like  that.  I  just  let  him  go,  and  I  sat  down  again 
at  my  machine,  cold  like  ice.  I  didn't  speak  to  Will  or  say 
good-bye,  but  he  stood  a  moment  there  by  me,  staring  down, 
his  face  marked  with  anger  and  tears;  then  he  picked  up  his 
cane  and  gloves,  and  I  heard  him  go  down  the  hall  to  the 
elevator.  His  step  didn't  stop,  so  I  knew  he  hadn't  met 
Mr.  Kirkland  on  the  way, 


CHAPTER   XI 

Y  nerves  gave  way  after  this,  and  about  the 
1 5th  of  August  I  took  a  vacation.  I  went 
to  a  place  called  Mohawk,  in  the  Catskill 
Mountains,  and  took  Tommy  with  me.  He 
had  been  going  to  work  for  a  week  only, 
and  he  was  awfully  tall  and  thin.  I  had  never  been 
alone  with  any  of  the  boys  before,  and  it  seemed  queer 
at  first.  But  it  was  lovely  out  there  on  the  lake,  so 
cool,  and  my  windows  faced  the  lake  and  the  hills  and  the 
sky,  and  there  wasn't  a  sound  but  the  birds  and  the  water. 
Tommy  had  a  perfectly  elegant  time  rowing  and  fishing  and 
swimming,  and  he  got  real  brown,  and  almost  fat  for  him. 
He  used  to  row  me  out  in  the  evening  in  the  moonlight.  I 
liked  Tommy  best  of  all  in  the  family  because  he  was 
brighter  and  better  looking.  He  found  some  boys  to  go 
around  with,  too,  and  I  was  a  great  deal  alone,  but  I 
liked  it. 

After  a  few  days  a  book  came  for  me  from  New  York. 
It  was  Richard  Feverel.  I  read  it  sitting  there  in  the  piney 
woods,  leaning  against  a  tree.  Some  books  came  for  Tommy 
too,  and  we  had  plenty  to  keep  busy  with.  Everything 
about  Mohawk  Lake  for  me  is  connected  with  Mr.  Fals- 
worth  and  Tommy.  I  went  up  with  that  trouble,  and  I 
tried  to  leave  it  there.  I  carried  it  around  with  me  on  the 
lake  and  in  the  woods  like  a  big  parcel  that  one  can't  pos- 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

sibly  carry  much  farther,  and  yet  which  one  doesn't  want 
to  lose.  I  don't  know  where  I  laid  it  down,  after  all. 

There  was  a  little  excursion  that  everybody  made,  back 
of  the  hotel,  up  to  the  top  of  Pine  Hill,  where  they  said  you 
saw  a  beautiful  view.  Every  day,  nearly,  Tommy  would 
tease  me  to  go  and  climb.  But  every  day  and  each  time  it 
was  lower  down  the  mountain  Tommy's  breath  gave  out, 
and  we  never  got  to  the  top.  He  didn't  like  to  give  in, 
though — he  was  a  proud  little  fellow,  and  I  could  see  he  was 
ashamed.  I  felt  sorry  for  him  when  he  said: 

"The  fellows  say  you  can  see  four  States  from  Pine  Hill, 
Sis — it's  a  mean  shame!" 

Just  the  same,  when  we  came  home  from  Mohawk  Lake, 
Tommy's  face  was  round  and  fat  and  he  looked  well,  and 
started  right  in  to  work.  I  brought  back  a  picture  of  Lake 
Mohawk,  and  pinned  it  on  my  wall.  It  was  a  small  photo 
of  the  hotel,  with  the  lake  and  the  mountains  black  around 
it.  It  looked  deep  and  quiet  and  awfully  remote.  It  was 
my  idea  of  a  real  wilderness. 

Mr.  Kirkland  had  stayed  down  in  Washington  all 
summer,  but  he  sent  me  up  magazines  and  books  from 
there,  and  wrote  me  about  them,  asking  me  how  I  liked  so- 
and-so,  and  "What  do  you  think  of  so-and-so  ?"  He  never 
sent  me  anything  but  real  stories,  and  by-and-by  they  got 
to  be  a  part  of  my  daily  life,  and  I  used  to  see  things  and 
people  through  these  books,  and  think  about  Hester  Prynne 
and  Dorothea  and  Rosamond  Vinci,  and  I  used  to  think  it 
made  things  easier  to  understand  when  you  watch  the  way 
they  work  out. 

Mr.  Kirkland  was  secretary  to  his  uncle  then,  and  seemed 
to  be  giving  satisfaction.  His  letters  were  full  of  funny 
things  and  doings  down  there  in  Washington.  He  never 
45 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

seemed  to  care  a  bit  that  I  didn't  write.  Once  I  read  in 
the  paper  that  he  was  up  in  Newport  with  the  Gandervelts 
over  Sunday,  and  I  knew  that  his  uncle  would  be  pleased. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  in  late  October — a  cold,  bright  af- 
ternoon— I  was  taking  a  walk  with  Tommy  down  by  Farm- 
er's Pond.  The  leaves  had  turned  red,  and  it  looked  bright 
and  pretty  like  a  little  scarlet  dell.  Tommy  and  I  walked 
round  the  pond  a  couple  of  times  before  supper.  I  didn't 
think  he  was  very  well.  He  seemed  to  get  thinner  and  older- 
looking  every  day.  One-third  around  we  met  Mr.  Kirkland 
slowly  strolling  toward  us.  He  had  on  a  new  fall  suit,  and 
a  soft,  brown  felt  hat  and  a  nice  tie.  He  looked  perfectly 
fine,  but  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  grown  taller  and  more 
stooping  and  thinner  than  ever.  He  carried  a  book  in  his 
hand.  He  was  laughing  and  pleasant  as  usual,  and  acted 
glad  to  see  us. 

He  asked  Tommy  if  he  were  taking  the  West  Point  exam- 
inations yet,  and  Tommy  said  no,  that  he  was  working  in  a 
New  York  office. 

"You  run  home,  Tom,  and  let  me  scold  your  sister.  She 
doesn't  know  how  the  United  States  Army  needs  men." 

Then  he  told  me  that  Tommy  didn't  look  well  or 
strong,  and  I  answered  that  none  of  us  "looked  much  at  any 
time." 

"Except  you,  Miss  Esther.  You  look  a  great  deal! 
What  have  you  been  doing  to  grow  so  disappointingly 
handsome  ?" 

I  couldn't  help  but  laugh. 

"Well,  nobody  ever  called  me  that,  anyway." 

Then  he  went  on:  "If  a  woman  lives  long  enough  she'll 
find  some  man  to  admire  each  one  of  her  traits  and  features, 
until,  in  the  end,  she  discovers  she  is  a  complete  Venus. 
46 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

One  fellow  will  hang  himself  for  her  lips;  another  will  com- 
mit crime  for  her  hand;  another  will  tell  her  that  her  eyes 
can  save  him,  and  so  on." 

He  opened  the  book  he  held.  "Here,"  he  said,  "is  some- 
thing written  by  a  giant,"  and  he  read  out  loud  to  me  as 
we  walked  along,  "The  Garden  of  Proserpine": 

"Here,  where  the  world  is  quiet, 

Here,  where  all  trouble  seems 
Dead  winds'  and  spent  waves'  riot 

In  doubtful  dreams  of  dreams; 
I  watch  the  green  fields  growing 
For  reaping  folk  and  sowing, 
For  harvest-time  and  mowing, 

A  sleepy  world  of  streams." 

I  said  I  thought  it  was  very  pretty,  when  he  had  finished. 

"You  use  the  wrong  term,  Miss  Carey.  Don't  you  see 
any  difference  between  your  own  exquisite  little  dress  and 
this  verse  I  have  been  reading  ?" 

"Of  course,  a  great  deal." 

"Now,  for  instance,  you  wouldn't  call  this  scarlet  wall  of 
quivering  foliage,  this  liquid-hearted  corner  of  the  woods, 
'nice,'  would  you  ?" 

I  said  yes,  that  I  thought  it  was  very  nice  indeed. 

"No,  no,  it's  divine,  and  so  is  the  verse.  And  yet,"  Mr. 
Kirkland  said,  "I  am  not  proving  my  point,  because  your 
dress  is  the  divinest  of  all." 

I  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  was  laughing  at  me  more 
than  ever.  But  it  was  pleasant  to  have  him  there  talking 
about  interesting  things.  He  read  me  a  lot  of  poems,  one 
after  another;  they  were  like  music  there  in  the  quiet  woods. 
When  we  came  back  I  was  too  timid  to  ask  him  to  stay  to 
47 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

supper  and  just  eat  biscuits  and  salad.  When  he  left  me  at 
the  gate  he  said: 

"I  shall  see  you  on  the  eight-o'clock  express  to-morrow, 
Miss  Carey,  for  I  have  become  a  resident  of  Brackettsville, 
myself." 

Fanny  and  the  boys  came  down  to  the  gate,  and  he  went 
on  to  say: 

"  I'm  boarding  at  the  Huntley,  down  the  street,  and  I  have 
bought  a  suburban  commutation." 


CHAPTER   XII 

E  left  the  Swinburne  and  Shelley  with 
me,  and  I  read  a  good  many  of  the 
poems  that  night.  When  he  asked  me 
which  of  them  I  liked  the  best  it  was 
hard  to  tell.  But  I  told  him  that 
it  was  this  one: 

"  Quickly  walk  o'er  the  Western  sea 

Spirit  of  night — ' 

I  don't  know  why,  but  it  made  me  think  of  the  port  down 
at  the  Battery  where  I  had  stood  to  see  the  ships  go  out  so 
slowly  with  happy  people  on  board  of  them,  but  all  of  the 
verses  were  lovely,  and  it  was  hard  to  choose. 

Mr.  Kirkland  boarded  at  the  Huntley  all  that  fall. 
Everybody  liked  him  there.  We  heard  that  he  gave  large 
tips  and  joked  with  everybody,  and  was  so  polite  to  Mrs. 
Huntley  that  she  said  it  was  as  good  as  having  a  king  in  the 
house  to  see  him  bow  and  hear  him  say,  "Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon";  and  the  conductors  on  the  trains  and  the  ticket- 
seller  and  the  hackmen  liked  him.  He  never  walked,  he 
always  took  a  hack  up  to  Mrs.  Huntley's,  and  always  had 
some  queer,  odd  thing  to  tell  every  one,  and  he  always  lifted 
his  hat  or  touched  it  with  a  great  deal  of  style.  We  went 
up  and  down  on  the  trains  together,  and  he  called  every 
Sunday  afternoon  and  sat  in  the  parlor  with  Fanny  and  me 
49 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

and  the  boys,  reading  the  papers  or  playing  checkers  with 
Tommy,  and  by-and-by  our  house  got  all  perfumed  through 
by  his  black  cigarettes,  and  our  parlor  carpet  had  burned 
spots  where  he  had  dropped  them  lighted,  and  there  was 
always  lots  of  ashes  when  the  girl  swept.  Fanny  would  put 
the  ash-trays  everywhere  for  him,  but  he  never  noticed  them, 
just  knocked  his  cigarette  on  the  chair  or  anywhere  and  let 
the  ashes  fall. 

Fanny  thought  he  was  stupid  and  silly.  She  didn't  like 
him  to  call  her  by  the  queer  names  he  did — "Salome," 
"Beatrice,"  and  "Guinevere."  She  was  always  cross  when 
he  was  around;  but  Tom  and  he  grew  better  friends  every 
day. 

Mr.  Kirkland  talked  so  much  about  it  that  I  made  Tom 
give  up  his  place  and  stay  out  home  and  loaf  until  he  got 
stronger.  Fanny  thought  that  it  was  silly  of  me,  and  just 
an  extravagant  idea,  and  she  didn't  see  "how  we  would 
manage."  The  little  boys  were  going  to  boarding-school, 
and  Tom's  salary  helped  with  the  house.  However,  nothing 
seemed  to  do  him  any  good.  He  just  got  weaker  and  thinner, 
and  hung  around,  and  only  took  interest  when  Mr.  Kirkland 
came  to  call  and  talked  to  him  and  treated  him  as  though  he 
were  a  man. 

He  made  me  take  Tom  to  a  doctor,  and,  when  we  came 
back  and  Tommy  went  up-stairs  to  lie  down,  I  had  a  lot 
of  errands  to  do  and  walked  to  town  to  do  the  Sunday 
marketing;  and  I  made  some  cake  for  supper.  Nobody 
but  Fanny  was  at  home.  The  little  boys  were  away,  and  I 
never  talked  much  with  Fanny. 

Mr.  Kirkland  called  in  the  evening.  And  as  he  got  up  to 
go  he  asked  me  what  the  doctor  had  said  about  Tom,  and 
when  I  told  him  he  looked  down  at  me  very  kindly  and  asked  : 
50 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"Well,  what  will  you  do?" 

"Just  keep  him  right  here." 

I  never  liked  his  face  so  much.     It  seemed  so  good. 

"Will  you  do  me  a  favor,  Miss  Carey  ?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"Make  believe  it's  you  who  are  walking  from  Wall  Street 
to  Central  Park,  and  lean  on  me.  Let  me  help  you,  will 
you  ?" 

I  told  him  I  thought  we  could  get  along  all  right,  and  that 
Tommy  liked  him  better  than  anybody,  and  would  always 
be  glad  to  see  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  a  long  winter.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
storms  would  never  let  up  and  that  spring 
would  never  come.  Tommy  took  to  his  bed 
and  grew  weaker  every  day.  I  went  in  to 
business  regularly,  and  Fanny  as  well.  The 
girl  gave  him  all  the  care  he  needed.  It  wasn't  much 
until  toward  the  last.  He  was  crazy  about  the  things  and 
books  that  Mr.  Kirkland  brought  him.  Mr.  Kirkland  came 
every  evening  and  sat  with  us.  When  Tommy  was  able 
we  sat  up-stairs  with  him.  Toward  spring  I  only  went  to 
town  the  days  Tommy  was  easier.  Fanny  stayed  home, 
too,  sometimes,  but  she  was  young  and  had  a  trick  of  hum- 
ming tunes  that  made  Tommy  nervous,  and,  though  she 
tried  hard,  she  couldn't  break  the  habit.  Fanny  was  very 
pretty,  and  had  lots  of  calls  and  friends.  She  spent  all  her 
salary,  outside  of  her  board-money,  for  her  clothes,  but  it 
paid  to  dress  her.  After  the  first  of  April  Tommy  didn't 
pretend  to  sit  up  any  more,  and  I  remember  getting  out  of 
bed  early  one  morning  with  such  a  feeling  of  hurry — hurry 
on  me.  I  dressed  and  went  in  to  my  brother's  room.  It 
was  only  eight  o'clock,  but  he  had  got  hold  of  the  girl  and 
made  her  fix  him  up  and  was  sitting  up  in  bed.  He  looked 
fine.  His  hair  was  brushed  back  and  his  eyes  were  quite 
bright. 

52 


A    SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 

"Say,  sis,  you  can  go  in  to  town  to-day  all  right.  I'm 
feeling  great.  I  guess  I'll  be  up  this  week  sure,  if  the 
weather  keeps  along." 

It  was  warmer,  and  he  had  the  windows  open.  One  tree 
near  the  house  was  covered  with  apple  blossoms. 

I  hadn't  been  in  to  town  for  a  week,  and  the  girls  needed 
me.  Things  were  every  which  way,  and  they  were  tele- 
phoning me  until  I  was  nearly  crazy,  so  I  thought  he  was 
lots  better,  and  that  I  would  run  in  for  an  hour.  When 
I  came  to  say  good-bye  to  Tommy  he  was  looking  fine 
still.  He  was  only  sixteen.  He  had  a  little  flannel  jacket 
that  I  had  made  him,  and  he  looked  like  a  girl,  with  his 
pink  cheeks  and  his  smooth  hair. 

"Mr.  Kirk's  staying  up  to-day,"  Tommy  said.  "He  is 
coming  to  show  me  how  to  draw  a  picture." 

He  had  given  Tom  a  big  box  of  colors,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  perhaps,  after  all,  Tom  might  really  take  a  pull  for 
the  better  and  get  well. 

All  the  way  to  town  I  felt  the  hurry.  I  couldn't  get 
through  fast  enough  in  the  office.  There  was  a  mountain 
of  work  and  directions  to  give,  and  I  saw  if  I  didn't  come 
back  to  business  soon  there  would  be  trouble.  But  I  ate  a 
bit  of  lunch  and  hurried  home  at  four  o'clock. 

Senator  Bellars  passed  me  in  the  hall.  I  expected  he 
would  bow,  but  he  didn't.  I  was  surprised,  but  I  was 
hurrying  so  fast  that  I  didn't  have  time  to  notice  or  mind 
then.  The  ferry-boat  waited  in  her  slip  so  long  I  got  wild. 
The  train  was  late,  and  I  could  have  screamed.  At  the 
station  I  took  a  hack  and  made  Mr.  Beam  hurry — hurry. 
When  I  got  to  the  house  there  was  no  sign  of  anybody. 
The  girl  met  me  on  the  stairs. 

"Oh,  Miss  Esther,  hurry — hurry."     And  I  ran  up. 
53 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Mr.  Kirkland  was  sitting  on  Tommy's  bed.  He  had  the 
boy  in  his  arms.  I  went  around  to  the  other  side,  and  we 
held  him  together. 

I  whispered  across,  "Where's  the  doctor?" 

"He's  just  gone  out  into  the  back-country  to  a  con- 
finement case.  He's  been  here  and  gone."  Then  he  said 
aloud,  "We  don't  need  anybody,  do  we,  old  man  ?" 

Tommy  hadn't  been  able  to  speak  very  well  for  a  long 
time.  His  voice  had  been  hoarse  for  months,  and  it  was 
because  he  had  spoken  out  so  well  that  morning  and  had 
seemed  so  strong  that  I  had  taken  courage  for  him. 

"Hold  me  up,"  he  managed  to  say  to  Mr.  Kirkland, 
"that's  all.  Hold — me — high — up." 

We  held  him  there  like  that  till  night.  Tommy  seemed 
to  like  us  being  there  with  him.  His  poor  voice  was  so 
hoarse  he  couldn't  speak,  but  once  he  said,  "Mr.  Kirk  is 
all  right — he's  all  right" 

I  don't  know  who  came  or  went — there  may  have  been 
twenty  people — I  don't  remember.  I  only  felt  the  thin 
body  that  lay  against  me  like  a  feather  stirred  by  a  dying 
breath.  Down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  was  his  paint-box 
and  pad. 

Mr.  Kirkland  said  to  me,  "He  was  trying  to  paint  you  a 
picture  of  Mohawk";  and  I  said,  "Don't!" 

Tommy  tried  to  say  something — I  couldn't  make  it  out. 
Then  he  began  to  talk  very  fast  and  very  low,  as  if  he  were 
hurrying. 

"He  says  something  about  a  view,"  Mr.  Kirkland  whis- 
pered, "and  'hurrying  to  the  top.'" 

I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  Pine  Hill,  and  he  was  climbing 
— climbing.  I  held  my  brother  on  my  breast,  and  he  said, 
"Higher — higher,"  and  looked  at  me  to  help  him,  and  I 
54 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

said  to  Mr.  Kirkland,  "He  thinks  he's  climbing — lift  him 
a  little." 

And,  as  though  our  arms  lifting  him  brought  him  to  the 
height,  Tommy  smiled  as  if  he  saw  some  lovely  country,  and 
the  light  never  left  his  face  when  we  laid  him  back  on  the 
pillow. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

BOUT  a  week  after  Tommy  died  Mr. 
Kirkland  was  sitting  on  our  porch,  and  all  of 
a  sudden  he  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and 
said  to  me: 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it, 
Esther?" 

I  asked  him  what  he  meant. 

He  said,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?" 
He  knocked  his  cigarette  ashes  off  on  the  chair-arm,  where 
my  name  had  come  out  written  across  his  hand.     I  think  I 
must  have  said,  "There  isn't  anything  for  me  to  do,  is 
there  ?"  for  he  exclaimed,  "Well,  then,  the  whole  thing  is  to 
go  to  pot,  is  it  ?"     And  he  stared  at  me  like  a  lion,  then 
laughed  in  his  old  way.     "I  suppose  you  have  heard  some 
lively  stories  about  me  ?" 
I  said  I  had  heard  a  few. 

"You  don't  know  half  the  truth  of  them,  my  dear  girl, 
but  I  shall  tell  them  all  to  you,"  and,  smiling  and  frowning 
together,  and  smoking  like  a  chimney,  right  then  and  there 
he  told  me  his  life.  Like  Tommy,  his  mother  had  died 
when  he  was  little,  and  he  had  brought  himself  up  with 
plenty  of  money  to  ruin  him.  "Until  last  year,"  he  said, 
"I  hadn't  been  to  sleep  sober  for  a  century."  He  repeated 
the  words  "until  last  year"  very  solemnly.  "There  isn't  a 
pleasure  that  I  envied  that  I  didn't  take,  but  since  I  came 
56 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

out  here  this  fall  I  haven't  touched  a  drop  of  liquor  or  looked 
at  a  woman  or  at  a  game  of  cards.  Do  you  know  why  ?" 

I  said  that  I  did  not. 

"By  Jove,"  he  cried,  "I  don't  believe  you  do!  Simple, 
modest,  unselfish  creature  that  you  are,  I  don't  believe  you 
dream  what  your  power  is.  Why,  it's  for  you,,  my  dear 
girl — for  your  sake.  There's  not  a  woman  I  have  ever  seen 
that  could  keep  me  sober  for  a  week.  But  I've  kept  straight 
for  eight  months  so  that  I  could  ask  you — I  mean  so  that  I 
could  tell  you — I  ask  you  nothing — nothing — but  I  tell 
you — "  He  looked  at  me  quietly  for  a  few  moments  and 
smoked.  Then  he  sat  for  a  long  time,  his  cigarette  between 
his  fingers.  When  it  went  out  he  let  it  fall  on  the  piazza. 
He  patted  the  chair-arm.  "Your  name  here,  on  this  bit  of 
wood,  spread  itself  across  my  palm.  There  isn't  a  bit  of  me 
that  your  name  isn't  written  upon."  Then  he  said,  slowly: 
"You  look  like  the  Madonna  of  the  Consolation;  you  look 
as  though  you  understood.  Esther,  you  look  as  though  you 
were  going  to — "  He  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  I  gave 
him  mine.  "Esther,  Esther,"  he  whispered,  "do  you  mean 
that  you  will  see  me  through?" 

It  was  hard  for  me  to  speak.  But  I  told  him  that  I  would 
if  he  needed  me. 

I  didn't  say  anything  about  this  to  a  soul.  Anyway, 
there  were  only  the  little  boys  and  Fanny,  and  she  didn't 
like  Mr.  Kirkland.  Of  course,  he  was  entirely  dependent 
on  his  uncle,  and  he  decided  to  wait  for  a  while  until 
he  had  made  himself  indispensable  to  Senator  Bellars 
before  he  told  him  about  his  plans.  Neither  of  us  called  it 
an  engagement.  He  had  such  queer  names  for  everything 
that  an  "engagement"  would  have  sounded  commonplace. 
Nothing  changed  in  any  way;  he  just  came  and  sat  and 
57 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

talked  and  talked  and  sent  books  and  candy.  He  was 
writing  what  he  called  a  "prose  drama,"  and  he  used  to  read 
it  to  me,  smoking  and  waving  his  long,  brown  hands.  He 
said  there  were  "great  lines"  in  it,  and  it  had  "the  elements 
of  a  masterpiece."  He  said,  too,  that  he  "couldn't  combine 
politics  with  art,"  and  spoke  of  things  as  national  disasters, 
and  he  thought  there  were  a  great  many  wrong  things  in 
Washington,  and  he  used  to  rave  against  them  in  the  parlor 
to  Fanny  and  me  —  she  never  stayed  long,  though.  She  saw 
her  callers  in  the  dining  -  room.  We  could  hear  them 


One  night  Mr.  Kirkland  said  to  me,  "That  sound  is  like 
the  trickling  of  a  fountain  in  a  silver  basin;"  and  I  said, 
"It  sounds  just  too  silly  for  any  use  to  me.  I  should  think 
Fan  would  have  more  sense";  and  he  answered:  "My  dear 
girl,  you  wouldn't  spoil  a  perfect  creation,  would  you  ? 
Fanny  is  perfection." 

And  I  couldn't  help  thinking  that  perhaps  Fanny  was  the 
kind  of  woman  his  uncle  had  raved  about. 

Over  and  over  again  he  used  to  say,  when  we  were  talking 
of  Washington  and  of  what  he  was  doing: 

"Oh,  if  I  were  only  a  man  —  only  a  man" 

And  when  I  told  him,  "You  seem  an  awfully  strong  one 
to  me,"  with  a  real  pleased  look  he  exclaimed: 

"That  is  nice  of  you!  Do  I  really  seem  so?  Well,  you 
couldn't  have  pleased  me  better  than  by  saying  it  to  me.  It 
is  a  medal  of  honor  —  the  first;  but  I  am  really  only  an  ideal- 
ist, and  Brackettsville  is  a  singular  place  for  me  to  drift  into." 

He  asked  me  a  great  many  questions,  but  I  never  asked 

him  any.     I  just  let  him  talk,  and  by-and-by  I  gave  up  say- 

ing "  What  do  you  mean?"  when  I  didn't  understand,  for  it 

seemed  to  disappoint  him,  and  I  discovered  if  I  waited  long 

58 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

enough  I  found  out  without.  He  told  me  I  was  an  excellent 
audience. 

I  tried  to  take  up  sewing  because  he  stayed  so  late;  I  was 
stupid  at  it,  for  I  didn't  even  know  how  to  hem,  but  he 
didn't  want  me  to  sew  steadily,  anyhow.  He  said  he  re- 
quired my  "undivided  attention."  "Sit  with  your  hands 
folded  and  look  divine,  Esther."  So  I  had  to  sit  idle  in  the 
mahogany  rocker  and  let  him  talk  or  read. 

My  business  went  along  all  right.  Mr.  Falsworth  had 
moved  his  offices  out  of  the  building  and  had  gone  out 
West,  and  Minnie  went  to  Europe.  Senator  Bellars  went  to 
Washington,  and  the  summer  after  Tommy  died  things  just 
drifted  along. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HEN  the  girl  brought  me  Senator  Bellars's 
card  out  at  Brackettsville  it  seemed  as  though 
I  should  faint  if  I  went  down-stairs.  He  was 
standing  like  a  giant  in  the  middle  of  the 
parlor,  gazing  out  of  the  window. 

My  miserable  nephew  tells  me  that  he  has  had  the 
audacity  to  ask  you  to  marry  him.  How  much  truth  is 
there  in  this  unwarrantable  nonsense  ?" 

I  replied  that  we  were  engaged,  and  he  gave  a  little,  short 
laugh. 

"Superb!     Superb!     Engaged  on  nothing  a  year,  and  to 

his  stenographer!"     He  changed  his  tone.     "My  dear  Miss 

Carey,  of  course  you  know  that  this  thing  is  impossible!" 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  between  the  windows 

and  the  dining-room  door. 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  that  Stephen  has  asked  you  to 
marry  him  ?  Why,  you  have  no  conception  of  what  my 
nephew  is!  You  know,"  he  repeated — "you  know  that  he  is 
a  pauper." 

I  answered  that  I  understood  Mr.  Kirkland  had  no  fortune. 
"No  fortune!"  he  cried;  "why,  he  hasn't  enough  to  pay 
his  laundress!     He  is  entirely  dependent  on  me  for  his  living 
and  for  his  career.     Do  you  realize  that  ?" 

"I  know  that  you  have  been  very  kind  to  him,  Senator 
Bellars." 

60 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"I  have  taken  him  out  of  the  gutter  for  my  own  sake 
and  for  his  mother's.  Say  the  word,  I'll  drop  him  back 
to-morrow.  But  my  nephew  might  have  a  brilliant  career. 
He  is  a  man  of  talent,  and  the  world  is  open  to  him." 

He  stopped  his  walk  and  stared  at  me,  pulling  his  long, 
bushy  eyebrows  over  his  eyes.  "I  expect  Stephen  to  go 
very  far" 

He  waited  so  long  that  I  agreed: 

"I  think  Mr.  Kirkland  will  succeed." 

Mr.  Bellars  snatched  that  word  out  of  my  mouth,  and, 
with  a  cruel  smile,  said: 

"He  wont  succeed  if  he  drags  himself  down  by  a  mis- 
taken marriage."  And  went  on  more  gently:  "Let's  be 
practical.  Now,  just  what  does  all  this  mean  ?" 

As  I  didn't  answer,  he  exclaimed: 

"You  must  understand  that  Stephen  Kirkland  can't 
marry  you.  I  respect  you  for  a  good  business  woman  and 
I  am  sure  that  you  are  a  fine  girl,  but  you  are  not  the  wife 
for  my  nephew." 

"Mr.  Kirkland  seems  to  think  so." 

Senator  Bellars  threw  his  head  back.  "Great  heavens! 
Stephen  thinks  so!  He  also  thought  at  one  time  that  a 
ballet-dancer  at  the  French  Opera  was  'the  star  of  his  life.' 
He  spent  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  on  her.  Why  didn't 
he  marry  her,  I  wonder  ?  Oh,  why  didn't  he  marry  one  of 
his  mistresses  ?  Why  ?  Why  ?" 

He  threw  his  head  back  again,  and  smiled  at  me  brutally. 

"I  expect  you  don't  even  know  what  I'm  talking 
about  ?" 

Honestly  I  didn't  feel  so  scared  as  I  had  done  when  Delia 
brought  me  up  his  card. 

"Mr.  Kirkland  has  told  me  all  these  things." 
61 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"Superb!  Superb!"  he  cried.  "He  has  confessed  at  your 
knees,  has  he  ?  You  know  his  habits,  too  ?  His — " 

He  was  getting  too  angry  to  speak.  I  waited  there  by  the 
table  while  he  talked.  There  was  a  book  lying  there  that 
Mr.  Kirkland  had  just  brought  me;  it  was  called  A  Human 
Document.  We  were  reading  it  together.  I  put  my  hand 
over  the  title — it  sort  of  hurt  me  to  see  it. 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  you  know  the  dissolute  life  my 
nephew  has  led,  and  that  you  will  marry  him  in  spite 
of  it  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"But  of  course  you  will!"  he  laughed.  "You  have  noth- 
ing to  lose!  You  expect  he  will  inherit  from  me,  and  be  a 
rich  man!  I  count  on  you  to  break  off  at  once  if  you  have 
an  ounce  of  real  affection  for  Stephen." 

I  said  that  I  thought  he  had  better  speak  to  his  nephew. 

"I  prefer,  on  the  contrary,  to  leave  it  with  you,  and  have 
you  handle  the  affair  in  your  own  quiet  and  dignified  way," 
he  said,  earnestly. 

But  I  told  him  it  would  be  much  better  for  him  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Kirkland. 

He  turned  on  me  furiously.  "You  mean  you're  intent  on 
ruining  his  life,  do  you  ?  You  are  set,  then,  upon  dragging 
him  down — spoiling  his  career!" 

"  But  you  told  me  just  now  he  was  pretty  low  down,  Sena- 
tor Bellars." 

And  he  looked  at  me  sharply.  "He  has  been  low,  in- 
deed, but  he  is  pulling  himself  together — taking  hold.  He's 
a  new  man,  and  decidedly  on  the  rise." 

"Since  when  ?" 

"Nearly  two  years." 

"  Do  you  know  why,  sir  ?" 
62 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"I  think  the  tide  has  turned,  and  I  intend  it  shall  beach 
Stephen  high  up,  if  I  can  help  it." 

"What  reason  had  he  for  turning  over  this  new  leaf,  do 
you  think  ? "  .  .  . 

He  simply  glared  at  me.  He  had  so  much  common  sense 
that  he  knew  what  I  was  driving  at.  But  he  was  an  awfully 
proud  man. 

"...  Those  other  women  you  mentioned,  sir,  hadn't 
kept  him  out  of  the  gutter  so  far." 

"Don't  stand  there,  Miss  Carey,  and  tell  me  that  you  have 
reformed  Stephen." 

"No,  sir,  I  don't  think  so,  but  he  does." 

He  said,  sharply:  "Ridiculous!  Stephen  must  marry  a 
woman  of  his  class — a  woman  with  money." 

Senator  Bellars  nodded  at  me  half  a  dozen  times.  He 
looked  at  me  in  a  queer  way,  and  said,  rudely:  "What  the 
devil  he  sees  in  you  I  can't  tell."  Then  he  put  his  hand  out 
to  me.  "Come,  tell  me  you  will  look  at  this  matter  reason- 
ably, Miss  Carey." 

And  I  said  then  that  I  thought  Mr.  Kirkland  seemed  to 
need  me,  at  which  he  laughed  out  loud  and  glared  at  me,  his 
bushy  hair  all  rumpled.  It  seemed  as  though  he  couldn't 
give  up  hope  yet. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  bargaining  for.  Wait 
until  you  see  him  drunk;  wait  until  he  comes  home  after 
a  three  days'  spree.  Wait!  Wait!" 

He  warned  me  that  I  was  planning  destruction  for  two 
lives  right  there  in  that  room.  Then  he  bade  me  good-bye, 
and  caught  up  his  hat  and  coat  that  were  in  a  heap  on  the 
chair. 

"I  won't  see  Stephen  again  from  this  day,  mark  you — not 
if  he  comes  begging  on  his  knees.  I  shall  remake  my  will 
63 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

before  twenty-four  hours  are  over,  and  I  hold  you  now,"  he 
said,  breathing  hard,  "responsible  for  Stephen  Kirkland;  you 
have  undertaken  his  life." 

When  he  had  gone  down  the  path  and  out  of  the  gate 
like  a  runaway  engine,  Fanny  came  in  from  the  dining-room, 
where  she  had  been  listening.  She  had  heard  every  word; 
her  cheeks  were  red  as  fire. 

"Esther  Carey!"  she  cried,  "do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
are  engaged  to  Mr.  Kirkland?" 

I  was  trembling  so  that  I  fell  into  a  rocker. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  I  told  her,  "and  I  guess  you  know  it  now 
all  right,  don't  you  ?" 

"Oh,  gracious!"  she  cried.  "You  don't  mean  to  marry 
that  stupid  old  bore,  do  you  ?  After  all  his  uncle  said  ? 
You  must  be  crazy!  Why,  he'll  disgrace  us  the  first  thing 
you  know.  You'll  have  him  to  support,  and  drunk  at  that.'' 
She  began  to  cry.  "I  never  thought  you  would  do  such  a 
thing,  Esther.  You  flirted  with  a  married  man  until  I  was 
scared  to  death,  and  now  you  are  going  to  marry  a  drunkard. 
I  thought  you  had  more  sense." 

I  told  her  to  be  quiet  and  go  up-stairs;  that  as  long  as  we 
stayed  under  the  same  roof  I  wouldn't  hear  a  word  from  her 
about  my  life  or  about  Mr.  Kirkland.  She  shut  up,  but  we 
were  both  mad,  and  she  went  out  to  eat  supper  with  some 
friends  and  I  had  mine  alone. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

R.  KIRKLAND  came  in  about  nine  o'clock. 
I  knew  his  long,  slow  step  well.     I  wondered 
if  his  uncle  had  made  a  scene  with  him,  and 
he  had  come  to  realize  what  a  poor  match  I 
really  was.     He  took  off  his  soft  felt  hat  and 
his  long  coat,  with  the  floating  sleeves,  and  threw  them  on 
the  rack  in  the  hall.     Several  little  parcels  in  his  hands  he 
held  out  to  me,  smiling. 
"Where's  Fanny?" 

She  was  out  to  supper  in  Brackettsville,  I  told  him. 
"Here  are  some  caramels  for  her,  some  marshmallows  for 
me — and  here  are  some  cigarettes  and  some  matches!" 

I  saw  that  the  danger-signals  were  up  with  him.     He  had 
a  couple  of  bottles  of  ginger-ale. 

"Let's  have  these  opened,  will  you,  Esther?"     And  he 
gave  me  a  book.     "You  can  cut  the  pages  while  I  smoke." 
We  went  into  the  parlor.     For  a  long  time  we  talked  about 
general  things.     Then  he  said: 

"My  dear  girl,  now  let's  see  what  Fate  can  do  to  us.     We 
have  the  world  before  us." 

I  understood  right  then  and  there  that  his  uncle  had 
turned  him  out,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  him  "Which 
way  will  you  turn  ?"  but  I  waited.  He  had  crowds  of  rich 
and  influential  friends — his  uncle's  and  his  own.  He  drank 
the  two  bottles  of  ginger-ale  and  ate  the  whole  box  of  marsh- 
65 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

mallows,  smiling  at  the  ceiling  and  at  me  through  his 
smoke. 

"Have  you  copied  out  the  first  act  of  my  drama,  Esther  ? 
Get  it;  I'll  read  it  to  you." 

He  read  beautifully,  gesturing  and  smoking  hard  between 
the  scenes.  Where  it  says, 

"Lady  of  those  wide  brows — Lady  of  those  white  hands, 
Men  have  gone  down  to  hell  for  thee  and  up  as  high 
For  one  long  sight  of  thee;    and  men  have  dived 
Down  to  the  ocean's  bed  for  one  sole  pearl"  .  .  . 

he  said:  "Esther,  that  is  your  portrait,  you  know.  I  shall 
finish  this  drama  at  the  Huntley.  I'm  going  to  work  fourteen 
hours  a  day."  Then  he  threw  up  his  arms  and  exclaimed: 
"Free!  Free!  Why,  it  seems  too  good  to  be  true!  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear,  for  opening  my  prison  doors." 

I  saw  by  this  that  he  meant  to  take  up  a  new  career  and 
not  try  working  in  town. 

"How  do  you  like  the  verses  ?"  he  asked,  like  a  child  all 
eagerness.  And  I  told  him  that  I  thought  they  were  "  per- 
fectly fine."  He  seemed  pleased. 

"I  rather  think  your  beautiful  sister  doesn't  like  me, 
Esther." 

I  told  him  that  Fanny  was  silly  and  only  used  to  the 
Brackettsville  people,  and  she  couldn't  appreciate  an  un- 
usual man  such  as  he  was. 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  girl,"  he  laughed.  "I'm  just  like 
the  rest,  only  a  little  more  ridiculous!  And  the  wonder  in 
my  mind  is  what  in  Heaven's  name  you  see  in  me!" 

And  I  smiled  as  I  remembered  it  was  just  what  his  uncle 
had  said  on  the  other  side. 

66 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Then  he  came  over  to  where  I  was  sitting,  and  took 
my  sewing  from  my  hands  and  drew  up  a  chair  by  my 
side. 

"Months  ago  I  told  you  I  had  brought  some  work  out  for 
you  to  do,  my  dear.  Well,  I  didn't  leave  it  that  day,  but 
it's  here  now,"  and  as  he  said  this  he  seemed  to  put  the  work 
in  my  hands  with  his  hands.  "Do  you  want  to  undertake 
it  ?  Do  you  want  to  undertake  it  ?" 

I  wanted  to  burst  out  crying  right  there  and  then,  but  I 
just  drew  Stephen's  head  down  on  my  shoulder  as  though 
he  were  a  child,  and  I  said: 

"You  know  I  am  used  to  work,  and  I  am  not  afraid  of 
yours." 

Fanny  got  engaged  about  this  time  to  a  young  fellow 
in  town.  My  sister  didn't  tell  me  she  was  engaged  for 
a  long  time,  but  Charlie  kept  coming  and  coming.  They 
sat  in  the  dining-room,  and  Mr.  Kirkland  and  I  in  the  parlor. 
Mr.  Kirkland  was  working  awfully  hard.  He  shut  himself 
up  in  his  little  room  at  Mrs.  Huntley's,  and  the  boarders 
could  hear  him  walking  up  and  down  at  night  and  reading 
out  loud,  and  the  entire  house  smelled  of  his  black  cigarettes. 
Mrs.  Huntley  said  she  didn't  mind.  She  thought  he  was  a 
"genius,"  and  so  polite,  "if  he  did  just  throw  his  things  down 
anywhere!" 

"I  guess  you'll  have  pretty  work  clearing  up  after  him 
when  you're  married,  Miss  Carey!  /  don't  see  how  you're 
ever  going  to  train  him." 

One  night,  after  the  holidays,  Charlie  De  G root  went 
early,  and  I  was  in  bed  when  Fanny  came  to  my  room.  Her 
cheeks  were  bright  red. 

"Esther,  you  are  so  cold  and  stiff  and  hard  that  I  never 
know  how  to  take  you."  She  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  my 
6  67 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

bed.  "But  I've  got  to  speak  out  now.  Can't  you  crawl  out 
of  marrying  Stephen  Kirkland  ?" 

She  was  so  excited  that  I  didn't  want  to  speak  sharply  to 
her.  "Don't  let's  discuss  these  things,  Fanny;  let's  each  of 
us  go  our  own  way." 

"Goodness!  I  wouldn't  care  if  we  could  do  that.  But 
Charlie  won't  marry  me  if  you  go  and  throw  yourself  away 
on  Mr.  Kirkland." 

I  sat  up  in  bed.  I  didn't  say  a  single  word.  I  tried  to 
remember  that  she  was  the  youngest,  and  that  neither  of 
us  had  had  any  mother.  Fanny  began  to  cry. 

"If  Charlie  De  Groot's  marrying  you  depends  upon  what 
other  people  do  and  are,  Fanny,  why,  he  isn't  worth  his  salt, 
that's  all." 

"Why,  Charlie's  perfectly  fine!"  she  cried.  "He's  from 
the  best  family  in  Brackettsville,  and  nobody  ever  said  a 
word  against  him,  and  he's  earning  fifteen  a  week  now,  and 
his  office  is  a  first-class  firm.  Don't  say  a  word  against 
him,  Esther  Carey!" 

"I  won't  unless  he  makes  me." 

"Mr.  Kirkland  will  go  back  to  drinking  as  soon  as  you  are 
married.  Charlie  says  they  always  do.  His  uncle's  mad  at 
him,  and  he's  lazy,  and  who  is  going  to  support  you  all  ?" 

I  said  it  wouldn't  be  Charlie  De  Groot  anyway,  and  I 
almost  laughed  out  loud.  It  seemed  funny  to  me  then. 

"And  the  little  boys,"  Fanny  went  on;  "you  won't  be  able 
to  help  with  them.  I  can't  ask  Charlie  to  support  my 
family"  Then  she  begged  me:  "Esther,  won't  you  get  out 
of  it  before  it  is  too  late  ?" 

And  I  said  I  didn't  want  to  get  out  of  it.     She  got  angry. 

"That's  not  all,  Esther  Carey.  I  didn't  think  I'd  have  to 
tell  you,  but  I  do  have  to  for  all  our  sakes.  He's  perfectly 
68 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

dreadful!  He's  just  as  fast  as  he  can  be,"  and  she  dropped 
her  voice  to  a  whisper.  "  Charlie  says  he's  keeping  a  woman 
now  in  New  York,  on  Thirty-eighth  Street." 

I  got  up  out  of  bed,  and  went  out  of  the  room  while  she 
was  speaking  to  me,  and  shut  the  door  behind  me.  The  only 
other  vacant  room  was  the  room  where  Tommy  had  died, 
and  I  went  in  and  shut  the  door  and  locked  it,  and  sat  down 
in  a  chair  by  the  window,  and  just  as  I  did  so  it  seemed  to  me 
I  could  hear  poor  Tommy's  voice  from  the  bed  saying: 
"Mr.  Kirk  is  all  right." 

Fanny  had  to  go  in  to  work  early  the  next  day,  and  she 
didn't  come  near  my  door.  I  packed  my  things — one  trunk 
and  a  suit-case  and  a  bag — and  left  my  room  in  order  and 
empty,  and  went  out  of  the  house  where  we  had  all  lived  for 
fourteen  years  or  more.  I  intended  to  take  a  room  in  New 
York  and  work  there,  and  let  Fanny  run  her  life  as  she  liked. 
The  things  that  she  said  about  Mr.  Kirkland  didn't  frighten 
me.  I  knew  the  old  story  that  Charlie  De  Groot  had  heard, 
and  that  it  was  all  done  away  with  and  past  ever  since  Mr. 
Kirkland  had  got  to  know  me.  He  was  on  my  train.  I 
saw  that  I  would  have  to  tell  him  something  or  other.  He 
was  in  fine  spirits.  He  had  a  big  bundle  of  his  manuscript 
with  him.  He  was  going  to  see  a  publisher  in  Bond  Street; 
he  was  smiling,  and  as  happy  as  a  boy. 

"Just  wait  until  you  see  the  announcement  of  my  book 
and  the  press  notices,  Esther." 

I  didn't  say  anything  until  it  was  time  to  leave  him  at  the 
ferry.  Then  I  told  him  that  I  wasn't  going  out  to  Bracketts- 
ville  again  that  night;  that  I  had  my  trunk  and  bags  checked, 
and  was  going  to  find  a  boarding-house  room — I  knew  of  a 
good  one  on  Washington  Square.  He  looked  as  if  he  would 
drop  with  surprise.  He  knew  what  had  happened  without 
69 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

a  word  from  me.  He  looked  awfully  serious  for  a  minute, 
and  then  laughed. 

"It's  that  miserable  little  puppy — that  pitiful  little  De 
Groot.  Never  mind,  my  dear  girl,  it's  of  no  importance, 
but  I'm  heartily  sorry  for  your  sister.  However,  that  is  none 
of  my  affair!" 

He  took  me  by  the  arm  and  we  walked  slowly  over 
to  Broadway,  and  he  told  me  it  was  no  use  going  on 
like  this,  that  we  had  better  get  married  right  then  and 
there. 

I  thought  he  was  right. 

I  went  over  to  my  office  and  told  the  girls  that  I  wouldn't 
be  in  that  day,  and  Mr.  Kirkland  went  to  get  the  license  and 
to  fix  things  as  well  as  he  could.  I  met  him  in  the  vestry  of 
old  Trinity  Church  at  three  o'clock.  We  were  married 
there.  He  had  one  of  his  friends  with  him — Mr.  Oliver  Sin- 
clair; he  was  tall  and  pale,  with  dark  eyes  and  a  dark  mus- 
tache. He  seemed  very  fond  of  Mr.  Kirkland,  and  he  was 
lovely  to  me.  It  was  the  29th  of  December,  and  cold  and 
fine,  with  lots  of  sun.  I  thought  the  church  was  lovely,  so 
still  and  so  remote,  and  the  three-o'clock  bells  rang  just  as 
we  were  married.  We  went  up-town  in  a  car  to  Washington 
Square  to  choose  our  rooms,  and  after  that  Mr.  Kirkland 
wouldn't  hear  of  anything  but  our  going  right  over  the  ferry 
to  see  Fanny. 

"It  wouldn't  do  to  desert  her."  He  put  it  that  way.  He 
said  she  was  "a  beautiful  little  goose,"  and  he  wasn't  angry 
a  bit;  he  just  laughed.  Fanny  generally  went  home  on  the 
half-past  five  ferry,  and  we  were  on  it  ourselves  waiting  in 
the  rear.  She  looked  scared  when  she  saw  Mr.  Kirkland. 
He  was  awfully  nice  to  her;  he  called  her  "little  sister,"  and 
said  they  were  going  to  be  the  best  of  friends.  I  told  her  to 
70 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

look  after  the  house  and  to  get  Lil  De  Groot  to  come  and 
stay  a  couple  of  weeks  with  her,  and  we  would  see  what  we 
would  do  in  a  little  while.  We  parted  friends.  Mr.  Kirk- 
land  was  as  gay  as  could  be,  and  treated  her  so  elegantly  that 
she  melted  a  little,  and  at  the  train  she  kissed  me. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

E  wanted  me  to  give  up  my  business.  I  never 
went  to  work  again  after  I  was  married,  and  I 
missed  my  work  perfectly  dreadfully,  because 
I  wasn't  accustomed  to  anything  but  regu- 
lar, constant,  methodical  employment,  and 
it  was  part  of  me. 

Mr.  Kirkland  had  some  money  in  the  bank,  and  we  lived 
on  that.  We  didn't  try  to  save,  because  he  was  sure  his  book 
was  going  to  be  a  great  success.  I  shared  with  Fanny  the 
expenses  of  the  little  boys  until  they  should  be  able  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  During  the  past  years  I  had  saved  up 
quite  a  little,  I  had  lived  so  plainly. 

We  went  out  to  Trenton  to  see  the  boys,  who  were  in 
school  there.  My  husband  took  them  all  sorts  of  presents, 
and  they  thought  he  was  perfectly  fine.  When  we  left  the 
school  Petey  kissed  me,  and  said : 

"Say,  Sis,  he's  great!  He  can  knock  the  spots  out  of 
Fanny's  'feller'!"  I  took  this  as  a  real  compliment,  and  so 
did  my  husband  when  I  told  him,  although  he  laughed  and 
said  it  was  easy  enough  to  see  who  was  Petey's  favorite 
sister! 

We  had  two  big  rooms  in  Washington  Square.     Mr.  Kirk- 
land  wrote  in  one,  and  I  sat  in  the  other  and  read  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.     I  did  all  his  typewriting  for  him,  for  I 
72 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

had  my  own  machine  there,  and  I  copied  out  what  he  wanted, 
and  it  kept  me  busy. 

He  talked  to  me  about  so  many  things  that  were  new  to 
me  and  that  I  didn't  understand  that  I  tried  to  read  and 
cultivate  myself.  He  had  trunks  full  of  books  when  he 
fetched  his  things  home  from  the  storehouse,  and  when  I 
unpacked  them  there  was  nothing  but  books  and  old  clothes 
and  tobacco,  old  pipes  and  paints  and  pencils.  We  had 
books  everywhere,  and  the  rooms  looked  like  a  circulating 
library.  Mr.  Sinclair  came  in  a  great  deal  in  the  evenings, 
and  they  two  used  to  smoke  and  read  and  laugh  and  talk, 
and  I  sat  and  sewed  and  listened. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

OR  two  months  after  I  was  married  I  hardly 
saw  a  soul  but  Mr.  Sinclair.  Fanny  came  in 
^  now  and  then,  but  she  never  stayed  long;  she 
hadn't  much  free  time.  There  was  a  French 
lady  boarding  at  our  house,  and  she  offered  to 
give  me  lessons,  and  I  thought  it  would  please  my  husband 
if  I  learned  and  surprised  him,  so  I  took  for  a  month,  but  I 
was  too  shy  to  be  affected  enough  to  learn  the  accent. 

All  this  time  Mr.  Kirkland  was  waiting  to  hear  from 
Holmes,  the  publishers,  about  his  drama.  He  sent  it  in  fine 
shape,  done  up  in  yellow  covers: 

LUCIA  DI  SIENA 

DRAMA    BY    STEPHEN    KIRKLAND 
To  My  Wife 
December  29 

Our  wedding-day  date! 

It  was  a  snowy  afternoon,  and  we  were  sitting  up  in  our 
rooms  talking,  when  a  messenger  boy  brought  in  a  package 
with  Holmes's  mark  on  it.  I  knew  right  away  what  it  was, 
but  my  husband  didn't.  I  wanted  to  go  out  of  the  room — 
it  seemed  as  though  I  couldn't  bear  to  see  him  disappointed, 
as  he  was  going  to  be.  He  turned  over  the  packet  before 
he  opened  it. 

74 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIPE 

"They  want  me  to  make  some  changes  in  it,  I  expect," 
he  said.  "I  know  old  Harry  Holmes  and  how  formal  he  is. 
I  expect  I've  shocked  him  here  and  there." 

I  stood  beside  him  when  he  opened  it.  There  was  a  very 
nice  letter  inside.  He  read  it  all  through  first,  very  slowly, 
and  then  gave  it  to  me.  Of  course,  authors  get  lots  of  blows 
like  these,  but  I  don't  think  any  ever  came  as  this  did  to 
Mr.  Kirkland.  He  just  stared  up  at  me. 

"They  don't  want  it.     Have  you  read  the  note,  Esther  ?" 

I  could  have  died  with  pity  for  him,  I  understood  him  so. 

"Well,  it  doesn't  make  any  difference,"  I  said.  "There 
are  plenty  of  other  publishers  in  New  York." 

The  manuscript  all  fell  down  on  the  floor  when  he  got  up. 

"Yes,  and  there  are  lots  of  roads  to  hell!"  he  answered, 
and  went  out  of  the  room. 

I  didn't  follow.  Two  months  weren't  enough  to  learn 
exactly  how  to  do  things.  It  seemed  as  though  it  would  be 
best  for  him  to  be  alone.  There  had  been  so  many  "ups 
and  downs"  for  sixteen  years  in  my  life  that  it  wasn't  easy 
for  me  to  grasp  that  one  shock  could  affect  a  man  so  desper- 
ately— but  he  was  that  kind.  He  put  all  of  himself  in  each 
thing  he  did.  He  was  proud,  and  so  sure  of  himself,  and, 
after  all,  so  far  nothing  had  turned  out  well  for  him. 

I  went  into  our  room  about  two  hours  later,  and  his  hat 
and  cane  were  gone.  I  was  crazy.  I  didn't  know  where  to 
go  after  him.  It  was  snowing  and  blowing,  and  he  had  on 
his  thin  house  boots.  Dinner-time  came,  and  when  he  didn't 
appear  I  had  no  heart  to  go  down  with  the  others,  so  I  sat 
waiting,  watching  the  snow  driving  along  the  streets  and  the 
people  hurrying  past.  I  tidied  up  his  library,  and  tried  to 
read  and  tried  to  sew,  but  I  was  wild.  I  got  them  to  let  me 
use  the  telephone  down-stairs  and  called  up  Mr.  Sinclair,  but 
75 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

he  wasn't  in;  and  then  I  picked  up  the  manuscript  from  the 
floor  where  my  husband  had  let  it  fall.  I  couldn't  bear  to 
see  it.  "Bad  luck"  wrote  itself  all  over  the  title-page.  I 
hated  it. 

I  got  to  know  those  two  rooms  pretty  well  during  the 
winter,  but  this  was  the  night  I  learned  them  best.  Mr. 
Kirkland's  cigarette  smoke  lingered  on  the  air.  His  ciga- 
rette box  and  the  piles  of  paper  which  he  never  let  me  touch 
or  fix  up  were  on  the  table,  and  books  everywhere.  I 
couldn't  call  anybody  in  the  house  or  speak  to  them,  for  I 
didn't  want  them  to  know  how  scared  I  was;  but  at  one 
o'clock  I'd  just  made  up  my  mind  to  say  something  to  the 
boarding-house  keeper  when  I  heard  him  come,  and  I  let  him 
in.  He  got  over  to  the  chair  by  his  table,  and  sat  down. 

"Get  me  a  cigarette." 

I  gave  him  one,  and  he  ordered,  "Light  it,"  and  I  obeyed 
him.  He  was  as  different  from  his  usual  self  as  night  from 
day.  "Sit  down,  Esther,  and  listen  to  the  man  born  out  of 
his  time — to  the  prophet  without  honor." 

I  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  he  began  to  talk.  He  asked 
for  some  water,  and  drank  a  pitcherful.  He  talked  for  an 
hour,  and  he  fell  asleep  beside  the  table.  I  took  off  his  boots 
and  stockings — they  were  wet  through;  I  got  him  nearly 
undressed  sitting  there  in  the  chair,  made  him  as  comfort- 
able as  I  could  and  wrapped  him  up  in  a  quilt,  then  I  went 
into  the  other  room.  I  dreaded  to  see  him  when  he  woke 
up,  and  I  was  afraid  he  would  dread  to  see  me.  About  nine 
o'clock  he  came  into  the  bedroom.  He  looked  perfectly  aw- 
ful, and  spoke  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  stranger. 

"Can  you,  without  too  much  trouble,  get  me  a  cup  of 
coffee — strong,  black  coffee  ?" 

I  had  been  up  and  dressed  for  a  long  time,  and  he  got  into 
76 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

bed.  He  stayed  in  bed  all  day  drinking  black  coffee  and 
smoking,  reading  the  papers  and  a  new  book.  At  five 
o'clock  he  came  into  the  library.  He  had  taken  a  bath,  and 
had  the  barber  in  to  shave  him  and  cut  his  hair. 

"Esther,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  read  you  a  chapter  in  this 
book  on  finance.  Gives  you  a  very  good  idea  of  the  art  of 
money-making  and  handling.  It  is  immensely  interesting." 

I  was  lying  down  on  the  sofa  when  he  came  in,  and  I  got 
up  and  took  my  sewing. 

"Don't  work.  Sit  with  your  hands  folded  and  listen.  I 
want  to  feel  that  I  have  your  undivided  attention." 

I  think  I  must  have  slept  a  little  while  he  read.  He  didn't 
notice  it,  though.  When  he  had  finished  his  chapter  it  had 
cleared  up  finely  outside,  and  he  went  out  to  take  a  walk. 
He  didn't  want  me  to  go  with  him.  He  said  he  was  going 
to  meet  Sinclair  and  bring  him  back  to  dinner. 

I  didn't  say  a  word  to  my  husband  and  he  didn't  refer  to 
last  night,  and  he  didn't  ask  to  see  the  manuscript  ever  again. 
I  put  it  down  in  my  trunk,  the  one  I  had  packed  so  hastily 
when  I  came  from  Brackettsville  on  my  wedding-day. 

That  night,  as  we  were  sitting  in  the  library,  Mr.  Sinclair 
asked:  "What  do  you  hear  from  your  drama,  Kirk?" 

And  my  husband  answered:  "It  had  a  short  and  happy 
history,  my  dear  chap — early  taken  home!" 

Mr.  Sinclair  laughed  and  said:  "You  mean,  then,  it  has 
been  accepted  r" 

"I  mean  that  God  loved  it  too  well.     It  died  young." 

He  understood,  and  changed  the  conversation.  They  be- 
gan to  talk  about  the  finance  book. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OBOBY  had  acknowledged  our  marriage  in 
Mr.   Kirkland's    family.     His   uncle   was   in 
Washington,  and  against  us   from  the   first. 
But  now,  when  Mr.  Kirkland's  money  was 
getting  low,  his  aunt  in  San  Francisco  died 
and  left  him  fifty  thousand  dollars. 
He  was  perfectly  delighted. 

He  put  away  all  his  author's  paper  and  his  soft  black 
pencils,  and  I  cleaned  up  the  table  and  brushed  out  the 
burned  marks  as  well  as  I  could  from  the  green  cloth.  He 
went  into  the  office  of  an  important  banker,  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Sinclair's  and  my  husband's,  and  he  invested  all 
his  inheritance  in  a  railroad  scheme  they  were  putting 
through. 

From  then  on  Mr.  Kirkland  thought  of  nothing  but 
money.  I  don't  know  how  it  was  or  what  kind  of  change 
of  mind  came  over  him,  but  the  same  imagination  he  had 
put  into  his  drama  he  put  into  the  office  work  which  he  did 
with  Ellis  &  Ellis.  Anyway,  he  was  wonderful.  It  wasn't 
my  vanity  or  my  pride  in  him  that  makes  me  say  this.  Mr. 

Ellis,  who  afterward   made  a  big   fortune  with  Mr. 

and  Mr. came  up  one  night  to  see  Mr.  Kirkland  at 

Washington  Square. 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  brainy  man  you  have  married,  Mrs. 
Kirkland  ?"  Mr.  Ellis  asked  me. 
78 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

And  I  told  him  that  I  thought  my  husband  could  do  pretty 
much  anything  he  set  his  mind  upon. 

By  the  work  they  gave  him  and  the  responsibilities  and 
the  way  they  kept  him  down  at  night,  working  till  morning, 
and  by  the  telegrams  and  the  messages  on  Sunday,  and  by 
my  husband's  own  letters  which  I  wrote  out  for  him,  I  knew 
he  was  valuable. 

Mr.  Sinclair  saw  a  great  deal  of  my  husband,  and  all  Mr. 
Kirkland's  spare  time,  which  wasn't  much,  he  spent  with  his 
friend  talking  about  the  "Science  of  Finance"  and  the 
"Beauty  of  Accurate  Computation."  When  my  husband's 
business  was  over  and  he  had  a  free  minute  he  would  sit 
down  at  his  desk  and  make  figures.  I  have  put  away  page 
after  page  of  these  figures — big  sheets  of  foolscap  covered 
with  his  close,  small,  black  figures.  I  couldn't  imagine  what 
they  were  about,  and  I  never  asked.  He  wrote  them  on 
table-tops,  on  pages  of  books,  and  he  would  sit  and  smile 
over  them  as  if  they  were  something  beautiful.  He  put  the 
same  absorption  into  them  that  he  did  into  everything  else. 
And  if  they  could  have  been  translated  I  guess  they  would 
have  read  like  a  poem.  But  the  poetry  books  were  all  dusty, 
and  he  never  read  aloud  to  me  any  more.  I  missed  it,  and 
once  I  asked  him  what  the  new  novel  of  the  day  was. 

"My  dear  Esther,  don't  fancy  that  you  can  find  any  real 
music  in  fiction!  There  is  more  aesthetic  charm  in  a  problem 
of  Euclid  than  in  all  of  Shakespeare." 

I  wrote  that  down. 

Mr.  Sinclair  was  always  very  nice  to  me.  I  never  really 
saw  a  kinder  man.  You  couldn't  tell  him  a  hard-luck 
story  but  he  would  turn  out  everything  he  had  in  his 
pockets.  Once  in  a  winter's  storm  he  gave  the  overcoat 
off  his  back  right  there  in  Washington  Square  to  a  tramp. 
79 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  caught  a  fearful  cold  and  was  laid  up  in  Brooklyn.  My 
husband  went  over  to  see  him  there. 

Just  the  same,  from  the  first  I  did  not  like  his  influence 
over  my  husband.  I  couldn't  put  my  finger  on  a  single  rea- 
son for  this.  He  was  gentle  and  patient  and  fond  of  Mr. 
Kirkland,  but  there  was  something  I  didn't  like.  Once  I 
thought  I  might  be  jealous  because  I  saw  so  little  of  my  hus- 
band, but  that  wasn't  the  real  reason,  for  he  was  never  con- 
tent unless  I  was  in  the  corner  sewing  while  he  and  Sinclair 
talked. 

By  one  thing  I  knew  that  Sinclair  was  sincere  in  his  friend- 
ship for  me. 

Fanny  broke  off  her  engagement.  Mr.  De  Groot  turned 
out  to  be  a  regular  flirt,  and  my  husband  said  that  there 
wasn't  a  real  drop  of  blood  in  the  fellow's  body,  and  Fanny 
was  well  out  of  it;  but  he  wouldn't  let  her  stay  in  Bracketts- 
ville  alone,  feeling  so  upset,  so  we  invited  her  to  spend  a 
month  with  us.  She  was  prettier  than  ever,  and  my  husband 
enjoyed  having  her  there,  and  laughed  and  joked  with  her 
a  great  deal.  Our  sitting-room  was  small,  and,  when  Sin- 
clair and  Fanny  and  all  of  us  sat  there  with  the  tobacco 
smoke,  it  seemed  so  full  that  I  took  to  sitting  in  the  bedroom, 
and  sometimes  I  was  in  bed  and  asleep  when  Mr.  Sinclair 
went  home  and  Fanny  went  to  her  room. 

Mr.  Kirkland  called  her  "Sunshine"  and  "Loveliness" 
and  "Clyde,"  and  lots  of  names,  but  now  she  only  laughed, 
when  they  used  to  make  her  mad.  One  day  when  Fanny 
had  gone  to  work  my  husband  said: 

"I  want  you  both  to  come  down  and  see  my  offices. 
Esther,  stop  for  your  sister  after  lunch,  then  come  over 
to  Nassau  Street  and  see  how  I  toil  over  the  harmonious 


80 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  was  very  much  pleased.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
suggested  my  going  down-town.  I  thought  perhaps  we 
would  meet  Mr.  Ellis,  and  I  put  on  my  best  dress  and  new 
gloves.  I  met  Fanny  at  two  o'clock,  and  went  in  and  asked 
for  my  husband.  He  had  an  office  all  to  himself,  and  he 
was  there  with  his  own  stenographer.  He  shook  hands 
with  Fanny  and  said  to  her: 

"So  you  fetched  the  primroses  to  Nassau  Street,  did  you, 
Sweetness  ?  I  thought  the  spring  had  come." 

She  did  look  springlike,  for  she  had  a  new  hat  with  prim- 
roses, and  a  new  coat,  and  she  was  so,  so  pretty. 

He  didn't  speak  to  me  once.  He  showed  us  all  over  the 
building,  and  laughed  and  talked  with  Fanny,  and  Mr.  Ellis 
had  us  come  into  his  room,  too,  and  when  it  was  time  to  go 
my  husband  got  his  hat  and  coat  and  started  up-town  with 
us — that  is,  with  Fanny.  He  didn't  appear  to  notice  that  I 
had  come.  I  waited  behind  and  let  them  walk  on  together, 
and  at  the  corner  of  Broadway  Mr.  Sinclair  came  out  of  the 
drug  store  and  saw  us  and  walked  along  a  little  ways  with 
me.  Then  we  took  the  car  home.  Before  he  left  me  at  the 
door  Sinclair  said  to  me: 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  as  perfect  as  you  seem,  Mrs.  Kirk- 
land." 

I  answered  that  I  was  just  what  I  seemed,  anyway,  but  it 
wasn't  perfect;  and  I  felt  sure  he  began  to  talk  this  way  be- 
cause he  had  something  he  wanted  to  tell  me.  I  stood  still 
in  the  street  and  looked  at  him. 

"I  am  taking  it  for  granted,  then,  that  you  are  perfect, 
and,  in  this  case,  I  can  speak  freely.  Don't  keep  that  pretty 
sister  of  yours  here  with  you.  None  of  us  should  play  with 
dangerous  emotions,  and  all  of  the  feelings  that  a  girl  of 
Miss  Carey's  age  has  are  dangerous — " 
81 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  looked  very  serious. 

— "  It  isn't  fair  to — it  isn't  fair  to  her.  You  are  not  angry 
with  me,  are  you  ?" 

And  I  told  him  not  at  all. 

When  my  husband  and  Fanny  came  in  he  never  asked 
me  where  I  had  disappeared  to,  or  appeared  to  have 
remarked  my  absence.  He  was  very  gay.  That  night  he 
took  Fanny  to  the  theatre.  It  was  hard  to  know  just  what  to 
do  and  how  to  do  it.  Of  course,  I  wouldn't  for  the  world 
have  spoken  to  Mr.  Sinclair  about  it.  We  never  referred  to 
it  again.  I  thought  of  three  or  four  ways. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  Trenton  to  see  the  little  boys,  and 
took  a  room  in  a  boarding-house,  just  leaving  a  line  on  my 
husband's  table  to  say  that  I  had  gone  for  over  Sunday  to 
the  boys.  He  wired  me  to  come  back  at  once;  that  he  was 
too  busy  to  come  out  that  Sunday  himself — that  he  should 
have  to  work  all  day. 

I  didn't  answer  the  telegram.  It  was  Friday  when  I  left 
Washington  Square,  and  on  the  following  Monday  I  got  a 
telegram  saying  that  he  would  be  out  to  Trenton  unless  I 
had  started  home.  I  sent  a  wire  back  saying:  "Having  a 
nice  time  with  the  boys.  All  right;  don't  come." 

Tuesday  morning  I  got  a  letter  from  Brackettsville  from 
Fanny.  She  was  mad  and  scared.  She  said  of  course  she 
couldn't  stay  in  New  York  alone  with  Mr.  Kirkland,  and 
that  she  had  gone  out  home,  and  that  she  thought  I  must  be 
crazy  to  go  off  like  that  without  telling  a  soul. 

I  saw  the  little  boys  every  day,  and  we  had  soda-water  and 
peanuts  and  went  to  a  show.  They  were  awfully  pleased 
and  were  glad  to  see  me.  It  made  me  think  of  Lake  Mo- 
hawk and  Tommy,  although  neither  of  them  was  a  bit  like 
Tommy. 

82 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Wednesday  as  I  was  walking  down  Main  Street  I  met  my 
husband  coming  along  toward  me.  He  had  a  spring  over- 
coat on  his  arm.  He  looked  tired  and  hot.  When  he  saw 
me  his  face  cleared  up  a  little. 

"What  in  Heaven's  name  are  you  doing  in  this  hole, 
Esther,  and  what  does  it  mean  ?" 

I  laughed.  "  It  doesn't  mean  anything.  I  just  wanted  to 
see  the  boys." 

He  looked  at  me  very  hard,  but  he  believed  me,  and  then 
he  laughed,  too,  and  said: 

"You  mustn't  ever  go  away  again  from  this  boy!  He 
needs  you  more  than  the  others  do.  Why,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  Mr.  Ellis's  interest  in  the  Rock  Island  and  that  it  meant 
a  mint  of  dollars  one  way  or  another,  I  would  have  come 
out  here  the  day  you  left.  I  would  have  done  it  anyway 
if  I  hadn't  been  in  a  position  of  trust.  I  have  been  miser- 
able without  you,  Esther." 

My  husband  gave  the  boys  each  five  dollars,  and  he  was 
devoted  to  me  all  the  way  home.  Mr.  Sinclair  called  when  we 
had  finished  dinner,  and  when  we  said  how  d'  you  do  to  each 
other  he  sort  of  laughed  as  though  he  understood  what  I 
had  been  doing.  Later,  my  husband  told  me  that  Fanny 
had  gone  home  on  Sunday. 

"Do  you  know  your  running  off  like  that  put  us  in  a 
ridiculous  position  ?  It  wasn't  like  you  in  the  very  least. 
Whatever  put  it  into  your  head  ?" 

I  didn't  answer  this,  but  when  we  went  to  our  room 
that  evening  he  took  the  subject  up  again. 

"Since  your  sister  has  gone  back  to  Brackettsville,  let  her 
stay  there.  My  dear  girl,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings, 
but,  frankly,  Fanny  bores  me.  She  is  as  empty  mentally  as 
a  beautiful  shell." 

7  83 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  was  standing  in  front  of  our  mantel  in  his  velvet 
jacket,  smoking  his  long,  black  cigarettes  and  smiling. 

"Physical  beauty  is  often  compelled  to  pay  a  price." 

I  knew  that  he  meant  every  word  he  said.  He  was  the 
most  truthful  person  I  ever  met.  He  didn't  know  what  a 
lie  was  or  what  acting  was.  He  felt  all  he  said  every  time, 
and  he  always  acted  exactly  as  he  felt,  no  matter  what  it 
might  be  to  other  persons.  He  may  have  been  to  blame  in 
many  things,  but  he  never  was  anything  but  real  at  the  time. 
I  told  him  that  I  thought  Fanny  was  very  pretty  and  I  was 
sorry  that  she  was  to  be  alone  out  there. 

"Then  let  her  board,"  he  said,  indifferently.  "Lots  of 
girls  board.  The  first  thing  you  know  she  will  be  engaged 
again.  A  girl  like  your  sister  will  have  half  a  dozen  affairs, 
and,  ten  to  one,  she  will  die  an  old  maid." 

Then  he  went  on  talking  to  me  through  the  smoke  of  his 
cigarette  about  woman's  failings  and  woman's  charms  and 
about  the  kind  of  a  woman  a  man  likes,  and  his  experi- 
ences seemed  to  have  been  very  wide.  I  couldn't  but 
think  so. 

He  looked  well  and  handsome  these  days,  and  I  took  great 
pains  to  keep  his  linen  nice  and  clean,  looking  over  his 
clothes  every  day  before  he  put  them  on,  as  otherwise  he 
would  just  have  worn  anything  that  came  to  hand.  I 
couldn't  but  wonder,  as  he  talked,  why  he  had  chosen  me. 
And  just  as  I  was  thinking  this  he  said: 

"  Let  us  say  a  traveller  passes  by  two  gardens :  one  on  the 
.ZEgean  Sea,  with  its  palaces  and  its  fountains  and  its  Oriental 
seduction.  It  has  its  effect,  of  course,  and,  ten  to  one,  he 
squanders  there  more  than  he  should.  Then  he  comes 
home  to  an  English  garden,  with  its  generous  trees,  its  rose 
hedge,  its  comfort,  and  its  cheer,  and  finds  a  seat  under  a 
84 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

spreading  tree.  He  would  like  to  sit  there  in  his  old  age  and 
sun  his  old  heart!"  He  came  to  me  and  laid  his  hand 
on  my  hair.  "I  have  lifted  the  latch  into  the  right  garden, 
Esther,  and  I  am  glad  I  had  the  common  sense  to  find 
the  gate." 


CHAPTER   XX 

HE  windows  of  our  bedroom  in  Washington 
Square  fronted  the  park,  and  it  was  always 
interesting  for  me  to  watch  the  passing.  I 
read  Charles  Dickens  that  winter,  for  I  never 
had  had  time  to  go  through  all  his  books  before. 
I  read,  too,  some  finance  books  my  husband  brought  in, 
but  I  couldn't  see  what  he  meant  by  "beautiful  accuracy!" 
I  suppose  I  have  had  too  much  accuracy  in  my  life  to  see 
much  in  it  but  worry  and  weariness. 

For  months  I  never  saw  my  husband  sober  enough  to  talk 
reasonably.  I  was  waiting  all  the  time  for  something  to  tell 
me  what  to  do,  and  now  that  I  was  alone  so  much  I  read 
everything  I  could  and  tried  to  learn  what  other  women 
did  in  my  position. 

Well,  they  nearly  all  of  them  left  their  husbands  for  other 
men,  or  else  they  worried  their  husbands  to  death  and  had 
scenes  and  cried.  Honestly,  I  never  knew  women  could  cry 
so  much  until  I  read  about  them  in  books!  I  didn't  read  of 
any  reforms,  though,  and  not  one  of  the  heroes  had  the  genius 
Mr.  Kirkland  had.  Most  of  the  women  were  beautiful,  real 
heroine's,  and  I  seemed  to  be  the  only  woman  tied  to  an  in- 
ebriate and  sticking  on!  I  looked  over  all  the  pictures  that 
he  had  in  his  collection — actresses  and  dancers,  women  in 
tights  and  artists'  models.  I  was  ashamed  to  look  at  them 
long,  and  just  hurried  through.  They  were  all  beautiful. 
86 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

When  I  had  looked  at  the  pictures  I  said  to  my  husband 
one  day  when  he  was  nearly  himself: 

"Don't  you  admire  that  reddish  kind  of  hair  they  call 
'Titian'  very  much?" 

I  had  heard  him  rave  over  the  "red,  honeyed  locks  of 
Venetian  girls,"  and  he  answered: 

"I  never  look  at  a  woman's  hair,  my  dear  Esther.  She 
might  be  a  Hottentot  for  all  I  know."  Then  he  went  on  to 
say  that  regular  features  were  a  bore,  and  that  there  could 
be  more  beauty  in  a  cross-eyed  woman  than  in  an  Aphrodite 
if  she  had  the  "essential." 

And  after  a  little  I  asked  him  if  he  would  tell  me  what  the 
"essential"  was.  He  laughed. 

"On  the  contrary,  you  tell  me,  my  dear  Esther.  I  have 
wondered  for  two  years."  And  he  went  on,  "If  you  con- 
tinue this  beauty  examination  I  shall  tell  you  that  the  only 
complexion  I  ever  saw  that  didn't  make  me  think  of  powder 
or  a  rouge-pot  or  a  cold-cream  jug  was  a  certain  nondescript 
soft  tint  that  freckles  easily  in  the  sun!" 

He  surprised  me  very  much  indeed. 

One  special  night  I  decided  never,  never  to  say  anything. 
I  guess  few  women  realize  what  such  a  decision  costs. 
It  is  so  easy  for  the  most  stupid  of  us  to  talk  and  find  some- 
thing to  say  at  the  end.  I  had  thought  of  several  ways  to  be- 
gin, and  each  time  this  thing  happened:  my  husband  acted 
as  though  he  looked  for  me  to  speak,  and  sometimes  he  had 
a  real  scared  expression  the  next  day;  and  then  again  he 
would  take  on  a  cross,  sullen  way  as  though  he  would  pre- 
vent my  speaking;  and  then  he  would  coax  like  a  child  other 
times;  but  when  the  time  went  on  and  I  didn't  say  anything 
he  grew  natural  and  reasonable  and  quiet,  and  I  could  easily 
see  that  he  felt  perfectly  dreadful.  There  were  days  when 
87 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

he  was  plunged  in  the  deepest  kind  of  melancholy,  and  it 
would  take  me  pages  and  pages  of  reading  to  cheer  him 
out  of  his  state. 

I  argued  to  myself  like  this:  "Now,  he  cant  help  it — or 
else  he  can!  If  he  can  help  it,  he  will:  he  is  a  bright  man, 
and  he  will  get  there  somehow;  and  if  he  can't  help  it,  why, 
what's  the  use  ?  It  is  bad  enough  for  him  as  it  is,  without  me 
laying  it  on."  So  I  waited  and  waited,  and  I  write  this  so 
that  women  like  me,  in  my  position,  will  have  a  chance  to 
watch  how  silence  worked  in  my  case. 

But  I  did  speak  about  Mr.  Sinclair. 

I  asked  my  husband  what  Mr.  Sinclair's  business  was, 
and  he  answered,  "  Sin  is  an  elegant  idler,  and,  like 
yourself,  Esther,  Sin  is  an  atmosphere,  a  desirable  back- 
ground." 

"If  he's  an  atmosphere,  I'm  afraid  it  is  bad  air,"  I  said, 
and  my  husband  seemed  surprised. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  that  if  I  had  a  boy  I  shouldn't  care  to  have  him 
go  with  Mr.  Sinclair,  pleasant  as  he  is." 

My  husband  was  going  out  to  the  Century  Club,  of  which 
he  was  a  member,  but  he  waited  when  I  began  to  speak, 
and  sat  down. 

"My  dear  girl,  you  are  out  of  your  mind.  Sin  is  the 
quintessence  of  friendship  and  devotion,  and  he  hasn't  a 
single  vice.  Heavens!  You  don't  know  what  you  owe  that 
man!" 

"  I  don't  want  to  owe  him  anything.  I  have  always  gotten 
along  all  right  without  debts." 

My  husband  said  that  Mr.  Sinclair  admired  me  extrava- 
gantly, and  that  he  was  always  singing  my  praises.  This 
made  me  awfully  mad,  and  I  didn't  go  on,  and  began  to 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

wonder  if  I  could  be  jealous.  As  I  couldn't  seem  to  put 
my  finger  on  a  real  reason  for  my  dislike  of  my  husband's 
friend,  I  concluded  that  must  be  it — I  must  be  horribly 
jealous.  Mr.  Sinclair  came  just  as  usual,  and  was  gentle 
and  very  nice  to  me. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

T  was  terribly  hot  that  summer,  and  we  went 
up  to  the  Adirondacks  for  a  vacation.  I 
thought  the  open  air  would  be  fine  for  my 
husband,  but  the  pool  and  the  billiard  room 
kept  him  indoors  all  day  and  all  night,  and  I 
sat  on  the  piazza  and  waited  for  him  most  of  the  summer. 
Now  and  then  he  would  sit  on  the  piazza  and  read  the 
papers  by  my  side,  or  he  would  go  to  sleep  in  a  long  chair 
while  I  sewed,  and  sometimes  we  took  walks  in  the  piney 
woods. 

But  I  grew  to  hate  that  resort,  and  the  smell  of  the  bar,  the 
clicking  of  the  balls,  the  sound  of  the  music  in  the  ball-room, 
when  I  used  to  be  sitting  up  in  the  hot  bedroom  with  the 
mosquitoes  buzzing  and  buzzing,  waiting  for  my  husband  to 
come  up-stairs.  Why,  it  all  used  to  make  me  perfectly  crazy, 
and  I  used  to  ask  myself  what  had  happened  to  change  me  so. 
There  was  one  perfectly  beautiful  girl  from  Washington, 
a  Miss  Pagee,  and  she  was  simply  crazy  about  him.  I 
watched  them  laugh  and  carry  on,  and  he  sent  down  to  New 
York  and  got  up  some  books  for  her,  and  by  that  time  I  had 
decided  that  it  was  certainly  all  my  fault  things  went  as  they 
did  between  us  two,  and  that  I  wasn't  the  proper  wife  for 
him,  and,  as  his  uncle  had  said,  I  had  "spoiled  his  life." 
Honestly,  I  guess  I  should  have  done  something  desperate 
right  up  there  at  Paul  Smith's  if  it  hadn't  been  for  what  hap- 
pened then. 

90 


CHAPTER    XXII 

HERE  were  times  when  I  could  hardly  bear 

to  look  at  her,  it  hurt  me  so.     They  all  said 

she  was  awfully  stylish. 

Mr.  Kirkland  said,  "As  far  as  standards 

go,  she  is  faultlessly  beautiful,  Sin." 
And  Mr.  Sinclair  answered  in  a  way  that  went  all  through 
me,   "Well,   I   expect  you   should   know,   Kirk — you're   a 
connoisseur." 

She  was  Mr.  Kirkland's  kind — what  he  was  used  to,  and 
she  had  travelled  widely  in  Europe,  and  they  could  talk 
about  cities  and  places  together.  Her  aunt  and  she  had  the 
table  next  to  ours  in  the  dining-room,  and  he  would  call 
across  to  her  from  our  table  about  Paris  and  Vienna,  and 
they  told  lots  of  jokes  and  laughed  a  great  deal.  In  her  ears 
she  wore  diamonds  that  looked  like  two  big  drops  of  clear 
water.  When  she  laughed  she  was  sparkling.  She  was 
awfully  pretty — I  suppose  there  wasn't  any  doubt  about  it — 
but  she  wasn't  my  kind. 

I  often  didn't  know  which  way  to  turn  and  look  at  table, 
because  I  sat  between  them  and  they  talked  across  me,  and 
I  was  in  the  way;  and,  sitting  there  like  that,  things  used 
to  get  small  and  to  fade  away;  the  noise  of  the  plates  and 
the  waitresses  passing  and  calling  out  and  hitting  my  arm, 
and  Miss  Pagee's  laugh — a  soft,  affected  laugh — it  all  made 
me  nervous  and  wild. 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  never  thought  so  much  about  Will  Falsworth  as  I  did 
then,  and  I  kept  saying  over  and  over  again  to  myself: 
"Now,  remember  that  you  were  in  love  with  a  married  man! 
See  how  it  feels!"  But  it  didn't  help  any. 

After  dinner  my  husband  would  row  Miss  Pagee  out  late 
in  the  moonlight.  From  the  piazza  where  I  sat  in  the  rock- 
ing-chair I  could  see  the  boat,  with  just  two  dark  specks  in 
it,  drifting  around  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  others  would  be 
dancing  in  the  ball-room,  but  even  then  I  could  hear  her 
laugh  far  out  on  the  lake  when  the  music  wasn't  too  loud. 

One  night  when  I  was  sitting  there  alone  Mr.  Sinclair, 
who  was  in  the  woods  for  a  few  days,  came  up  on  the  porch 
and  joined  me. 

"Where's  Kirk?" 

I  pointed  out  to  the  lake. 

"Do  you  mean  he  has  drowned  himself?" 

He  laughed,  and  I  answered,  "Oh  no,  he  has  just  gone 
out  for  a  while  with  Miss  Pagee." 

Mr.  Sinclair  kept  me  company.  He  was  well  and  bright, 
and  he  said  it  was  "  fiendishly  hot  in  town,"  and  that  we  were 
"lucky  dogs  to  be  up  here  in  this  Eden." 

When  my  husband  and  Miss  Pagee  rowed  back  and 
landed  we  could  see  them  coming  up  together  from  the  boat- 
house,  and  he  had  her  long,  white  coat  over  his  arm.  It 
dragged  like  a  dead  thing — like  a  drowned  woman,  and  it 
had  an  awful  look  about  it  to  me.  She  was  walking  along- 
side of  him,  in  white,  too.  They  made  a  summery  picture. 
She  went  indoors  without  stopping,  and  my  husband  and 
Mr.  Sinclair  sat  talking  a  little  while  by  me,  and  then  he 
said  he  had  a  lot  of  business  to  talk  over  with  Mr.  Kirkland, 
and  asked  him  to  come  into  the  smoking-room. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

R.  SINCLAIR  stayed  up  there  several  days. 
There  were  some  important  interests  in  the 
market  that  they  both  were  absorbed  in. 
They  were  telegraphing  all  the  time,  and 
Mr.  Sinclair  didn't  seem  in  the  least  to  be 
bothered  about  my  husband's  flirtation  with  Miss  Pagee, 
although  he  had  been  upset  in  the  case  of  Fanny;  but  now, 
on  the  contrary,  he  kept  alongside  of  me,  and  the  other 
two  were  left  together  all  the  time.  But  as  soon  as  Miss 
Pagee  left  my  husband  Mr.  Sinclair  would  join  him 
immediately  and  get  him  talking  about  their  mutual 
affairs. 

My  husband  was  in  splendid  humor  these  days.  He 
talked  about  beginning  a  new  book. 

He  had  the  habit  of  telling  me  about  all  his  affairs  in  the 
office,  and  I  was  able  to  understand,  for  he  had  taught 
me,  and  I  had  read  with  care,  but  up  here  he  said  nothing 
about  this  last  business  deal,  and  when  I  came  anywhere 
near  the  subject  it  irritated  him  so  that  I  would  let  it  drop. 
One  night  I  was  taking  a  little  walk  up  and  down  the 
piazza,  and  passed  my  husband  and  his  friend,  and  I  heard 
Mr.  Kirkland  say: 

"Now,  we  mustn't  get  all  the  eggs  in  one  basket,  Sin,  and 
I  am  really  not  willing — ' 

And  Mr.  Sinclair  interrupted  in  his  quiet  voice.     Then  I 
93 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

went  right  up  and  sat  down  by  them,  and  they  stopped 
talking. 

I  could  see  my  husband's  face  in  the  full  moonlight.  The 
nights  were  gorgeous,  for  it  was  the  harvest-moon,  and  the 
lake  was  all  white  like  snow,  and  the  forests  around  as  black 
as  death.  My  husband's  face  was  quiet  and  peaceful  and 
serene,  and  I  was  glad  that  he  had  kept  straight  for  so  long. 
As  I  looked  up  at  him  he  smiled  and  said,  in  a  soft  voice, 
"Dear  girl"  And  Mr.  Sinclair  asked,  laughing,  "Who, 
pray?"  and  my  husband  answered,  "Millie  Pagee.  Isn't 
that  a  euphonious  name — Millie  ?  Dear  girl !" 

He  didn't  seem  to  know  I  was  there. 

"What  hair!"  he  went  on.  "Have  you  observed  it,  Sin  ? 
It's  like  a  Byzantine  prune  in  July." 

There  was  a  storm  let  loose  in  me  every  time  Mr.  Sinclair 
and  Stephen  talked  together  like  this,  and  I  began,  by-and- 
by,  to  be  afraid  I  would  bear  its  ravages  in  my  face.  Once  I 
looked  in  the  glass  to  see  whether  I  hadn't  changed  terribly 
since  we  came  to  Paul  Smith's,  but  I  couldn't  see  that  there 
was  a  difference — as  I  hadn't  been  off  the  piazza,  much  I 
hadn't  even  tanned,  and  there  was  so  much  calm  in  my  face 
I  didn't  wonder  they  talked  on  before  me  as  if  I  were  a 
statue. 

What  could  I  do  ? 

Another  time  my  husband  said: 

"Sin,  do  you  recall  that  Spanish  marvel  of  sinuosity — 
that  little  beauty  who  threw  a  rose  in  our  box  at  Madrid  ?" 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Sinclair  answered,  "but  she  was  too  thin." 

And  my  husband  replied,  scornfully,  "A  woman  is  only 
attractive  when  she  is  so  thin  that  if  you  held  her  up  by  her 
neck  you  could  hear  her  bones  rattle." 

I  tried  not  to  mind  that  there  wasn't  anything  of  the  freak 
94 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

in  me.  I  wasn't  fat — but  there  wasn't  a  bone  in  view,  and 
once  more  I  felt  lowered  in  my  husband's  standards  of 
"absolute  loveliness." 

They  had  memories  together,  experiences  together,  things 
they  should  have  kept  to  themselves  and  have  never  referred 
to  before  me.  It  shamed  me.  I  suffered  in  my  way,  and  I 
shouldn't  like  to  write  what  my  feelings  were  toward  Mr. 
Sinclair.  He  seemed  to  want  to  put  my  husband  before  me 
in  his  weakest  light,  and  then  to  lead  him  on  with  Miss 
Pagee.  As  for  Stephen's  nonsense,  well,  I  didn't  half  be- 
lieve all  he  said — he  was  so  poetical! 

The  next  day  after  his  admiration  of  the  bony  woman 
he  said  to  Mr.  Sinclair,  and  I  suppose  meant  it  at  the  time: 
"There  is  something  of  the  sultan  in  us  all,  Sin;  for  my 
part,  those  ivory-shouldered,  round  beauties  of  the  harem 
are  the  one  feminine  type  I  can  understand  a  man  admiring." 

It  may  be  awfully  silly — one  way  or  another  it  was  all  per- 
fectly ridiculous — but  that  night  when  I  undressed  for  bed 
I  felt  a  little  higher  up  in  the  line. 

The  day  Mr.  Sinclair  went  back  to  New  York  on  the  early 
train,  my  husband  wasn't  himself,  nor  from  then  on  for 
several  days.  What  the  people  thought  was  unimportant, 
but  it  made  me  a  little  ashamed  for  him,  for  he  seemed  timid 
when  he  went  down  on  the  porch;  but  everybody  acted  as 
though  they  thought  he  had  been  ill,  and  Miss  Pagee  was 
lovely  to  him. 

That  first  day  they  went  out  for  a  long  walk,  and  the  day 
after  he  took  her  paddling;  then  they  made  a  plan  to  go  up 
into  one  of  the  little  rivers  on  an  excursion.  He  paddled 
like  an  Indian,  and  it  made  a  pretty  sight  to  see  them  shoot- 
ing off  in  the  slender,  thin  canoe.  They  left  the  hotel  at 
four  in  the  afternoon.  From  being  up  so  much  in  the  night 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  was  tired,  and  laid  down  on  my  bed,  and  it  was  hot  and 
stifling,  and  the  flies  buzzed  and  buzzed,  for  you  couldn't  keep 
them  out,  screens  or  no  screens.  I  slept  heavily.  When 
Miss  Pagee's  aunt  came  in  and  waked  me  up  I  opened 
my  eyes  and  didn't  know  where  I  was  at  first.  They  hadn't 
come  back  yet,  and  it  was  after  nine  o'clock,  and  she  was 
much  alarmed. 

For  a  minute  it  went  over  me,  and,  like  a  vision,  I  saw 
my  husband  carrying  the  long,  white  cloak  on  his  arm — then 
I  knew  how  silly  it  was,  and  I  told  Miss  Pagee's  aunt  that 
I  was  sure  it  was  perfectly  all  right,  that  my  husband  never 
had  any  idea  of  time,  and  that  he  was  like  a  fish  in  the  water. 
But  she  was  anxious,  and  made  me  light  the  lamp.  It  was 
embarrassing  to  have  her  come  in  on  me  like  this.  I  was  in 
my  dressing-jacket,  and  she  was  a  perfect  stranger,  but  she 
sat  down.  She  didn't  seem  to  mind,  she  was  so  upset. 
She  didn't  like  it  "at  all — not  at  all"  she  kept  saying,  and 
everybody  in  the  house  was  talking  about  it.  Then  she 
stopped  as  though  she  remembered  to  whom  she  spoke. 

"About  what  ?"     And  I  guess  my  tone  scared  her. 

"Oh,  you  know  how  people  go  on." 

And  I  said,  "Yes,  summer  hotels  are  celebrated  for  the 
rocking-chair  club." 

"You  are  too  indifferent,  Mrs.  Kirkland." 

And  as  lightly  as  I  could  I  said  that  my  husband  was  a 
great  admirer  of  ladies'  beauty. 

She  stared  at  me  as  though  she  thought  I  was  a  fool. 

"Why,  but  don't  you  care?" 

"I  like  to  see  him  amused,"  I  answered. 

Miss  Pagee's  aunt  gave  a  sniff,  then  said:]  "Well,  7  would 
like  to  see  them  come  home!     It's  scandalous.     I'll  never 
chaperon  Millie  Pagee  again  as  long  as  I  live." 
96 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Then  she  let  me  get  dressed,  and  I  tried  not  to  be  anxious, 
but,  as  time  went  on  and  ten  o'clock  came,  and  eleven  o'clock 
came,  everybody  in  the  hotel  was  talking  and  wondering  and 
watching  out  on  the  lake  for  the  boat  and  calling  out  through 
megaphones;  but  they  didn't  come. 

Miss  Pagee's  aunt  had  some  guides  start  out  for  White 
River  at  midnight,  and  we  sent  more  guides  through  the 
woods.  There  was  nothing  else  for  us  to  do.  A  telegram 
had  come  for  my  husband,  and  I  kept  it  in  my  lap,  and  Miss 
Pagee's  aunt  and  I  sat  side  by  side  on  the  piazza  in  the  corner 
next  to  the  woods,  and  she  cried  and  told  me  a  lot  about  her 
niece,  how  gay  Millie  was  and  how  headstrong,  and  that  she 
had  always  been  a  flirt. 

"But  this  is  the  worst  case,"  she  said,  with  perfect  in- 
difference to  my  feelings.  "I  have  never  seen  Millie  so  ab- 
sorbed as  she  is  now.  I  shall  take  her  away  from  here 
to-morrow — that  is,  if  she  ever  comes  back!  If  she  does," 
she  concluded,  "her  reputation  is  ruined,  ruined!"  And 
she  blew  her  nose. 

It  may  be  strange  to  say,  but  her  words  didn't  hurt  me  in 
the  least.  For  some  reason  or  other  I  was  perfectly  calm, 
and  I  felt  rather  solemn.  I  couldn't  shake  off  the  supersti- 
tion that  something  had  happened  to  Miss  Pagee,  and  that 
my  husband  was  all  right.  It  was  nothing  but  nervous  su- 
perstition, no  doubt,  but  that  was  the  reason  I  took  it  so 
easily,  I  guess. 

It  would  be  hours  before  the  guides  could  return,  and  a 
lot  of  people  waited  down  in  the  office  and  at  the  bar,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  I  couldn't  stand  the  click  of  the  billiard- 
balls  and  the  smell  of  lemon-peel. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  Miss  Pagee's  aunt  and  I 
were  both  sitting  there  close  to  the  piazza  rail.  She  was 
97 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

dozing  a  little  when  I  heard  voices  near  my  side,  and  I  looked 
over  the  rail,  and  there  were  my  husband  and  Miss  Pagee 
walking  in  from  the  woods.  Miss  Pagee's  aunt  and  I  both 
stood  up,  and  she  called  out: 

"Well,  Millie  Pagee,  are  you  stark,  staring  mad?" 

My  husband's  voice  sounded  cheerful  and  calm,  and  he 
laughed  and  answered: 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Burnett,  we  are  nearly  mad!" 

They  came  up  on  the  steps  to  us.  It  seemed  that  their 
canoe  had  sprung  a  leak  up-stream,  and  the  only  thing  they 
could  do  was  to  make  an  old  carry  and  walk  in  to  Paul 
Smith's,  so  they  told  us.  They  looked  very  white  and  very 
tired,  and  Miss  Pagee  sank  down  on  a  chair  and  put  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  her  aunt  scolded  and  scolded,  and 
pretty  soon  Miss  Pagee  burst  out  crying. 

"Can't  you  be  still,  Aunt  Jessica  ?  Can't  you  see  I  am 
exhausted  and  on  the  verge  of  hysterics  ?" 

My  husband  had  gone  to  get  some  sandwiches  and  some 
milk  for  her,  and  when  he  came  back  I  handed  him  the  tele- 
gram. He  read  it  under  the  lamp  hanging  up  against  the 
door,  and  the  gnats  and  the  mosquitoes  swarmed  thick 
around  it.  He  stuffed  it  in  his  pocket  and  said: 

"  Esther,  let's  go  up.  We  will  bid  these  ladies  good-night. 
I  have  to  go  up  to  town  by  the  morning  train."  And  he 
shook  hands  with  Miss  Pagee's  aunt  and  said  he  was  dread- 
fully sorry,  and  Miss  Pagee  just  touched  his  hand,  hardly 
looking  at  him,  and  we  went  up-stairs. 


'IT  WILL  BE  SUPBERB  TO  FIND  OURSELVES  ABOVE  THESE 
PETTY  ANNOYANCES" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Y  husband  was  very  much  excited,  and  when 
we  got  up  to  our  room  he  told  me  that  he  was 
about  to  be  a  rich  man. 

"I  am  speaking  in  large  figures,"  and  he 
emphasized,  ''very  large  figures.  You  have 
been  so  simple  in  your  life  and  your  ideas  that  I  doubt  if 
you  can  realize  what  it  means  to  be  rich.  Can  you  ?" 

It  might  have  disappointed  him  if  I  had  told  him  that 
I  couldn't  realize  it,  so  I  only  smiled.  Our  rooms  were  hot 
and  close,  and  the  lamp  made  it  hotter.  He  took  off  his  coat 
and  vest  and  collar,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

"It  will  be  superb,"  he  said,  "to  find  ourselves  above  these 
petty  annoyances — to  be  able  to  do  legitimately  some  of  the 
things  I  have  dreamed  of.  Esther,  how  will  you  look  in 
Bellaggio  ?"  He  caught  me  by  the  arm  and  stared  at  me. 
"I  shall  build  a  pink  villa  and  dream  for  days  on  the  bosom 
of  Como." 

He  talked  about  many  things  he  would  do  and  the  places 
he  would  see  again. 

"Sin  is  a  great  friend,"  he  repeated  many  times,  "and 
you  didn't  like  him.     My  dear  girl,  you  must  learn  to  know 
the  ring  of  true  metal.     Sin  is  the  king  of  friends." 
I  was  sitting  on  the  bed  braiding  my  hair. 
My  husband  went  on  to  say  how  Mr.  Sinclair  put  him  on 
this  deal  and  advised  him  to  invest  in  the  opening  of  Wis- 
8  99 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

consin  oil  lands,  and  that  he  had  put  in  all  his  own  money, 
and  that  Mr.  Ellis  had  advanced  him  a  year's  salary,  and  he 
was  getting  big  pay  then.  Coming  up  to  me  he  said: 

"Now,  I  have  to  put  up  just  a  little  more  margin  for  a  day, 
for  this  is  the  crisis.  How  much  money  have  you  in  the 
savings-bank  ?" 

I  told  him  I  had  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  he  asked  me 
to  lend  it  to  him,  and  I  gave  him  a  check. 

He  went  off  at  six  o'clock  as  gay  as  a  boy,  and  he  looked 
well  and  handsome,  I  thought,  and  not  a  bit  as  though  he  had 
walked  twenty  miles  through  the  woods.  He  wrote  a  long 
note  to  Miss  Pagee  while  he  waited  for  the  stage  in  the 
office. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ISS  PAGEE,  when  she  didn't  paddle  on  the 

lake,  was  with  me  nearly  all  the  time  that 
Mr.  Kirkland  was  in  town.  He  went  in  on 
Friday  morning,  August  — ,  1903. 

"You  see,  I  haven't  had  enough  of  canoes 
yet,  Mrs.  Kirkland,"  she  said  to  me. 

Miss  Pagee  was  tall  like  a  willow,  and  slender,  and  her 
clothes  looked  as  if  they  had  been  created  on  her  and  be- 
longed to  her  and  couldn't  possibly  have  been  worn  by  any 
other  person.  They  just  were  her.  They  were  very  ex- 
pensive, and  all  came  from  Paris.  She  didn't  brown  and  tan 
like  the  rest  of  the  girls  up  in  the  woods,  because  she  wore 
soft,  thick  veils  wound  around  her,  and  creamy,  soft  gloves 
that  reached  up  to  her  elbows,  and  her  clothes  smelled  like 
a  bunch  of  flowers. 

After  dinner  she  came  over  with  her  aunt  and  talked  all 
the  evening  with  me.  I  understood  what  it  meant — she  had 
the  idea  that  it  was  well  to  show  the  hotel  guests  that  we 
were  friends. 

Mrs.  Burnett,  her  aunt,  as  soon  as  she  knew  there  were 
no  cold  shoulders  turned  on  her,  joined  her  friends  of  the 
rocking-chair  club,  and  Millie  Pagee  stayed  with  me  all  the 
time.  I  was  expecting  every  minute  she  would  speak  to  me 
about  my  husband.  I  was  sure  she  was  dying  to,  but  she 
didn't  dare.  She  was  a  great  talker,  and  had  a  slow,  sweet 
101 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

voice,  and  a  way  of  saying  "Really!"  and  "I  mean  to  say." 
She  came  from  the  South,  and,  without  my  asking,  told  me 
a  lot  about  herself.  She  had  had  a  very  full  social  life  in 
America,  and  abroad,  too.  She  told  me  about  being  pre- 
sented at  the  English  court,  and  described  her  clothes  and 
her  long,  white  train,  and  lots  of  pleasant  things  she  had 
done.  She  was  older  than  I  was,  but  she  looked  like  a  girl 
of  twenty. 

In  a  few  days  she  got  talked  out  and  grew  nervous  and 
restless,  just  as  though  she  were  worrying  for  a  letter  which 
she  wanted  and  which  didn't  come. 

I  hadn't  had  a  word  from  my  husband,  and  I  was  sure 
that  she  hadn't  had,  either.  She  sat  quietly  when  we 
were  together,  with  her  chin  on  her  hand,  gazing  out  on  the 
lake,  and  for  a  week  my  husband's  name  never  passed 
between  us.  Then  one  night,  of  my  own  accord,  I  began 
to  talk  about  him,  and  Miss  Pagee  dropped  her  hand  like 
she  was  shot.  Well,  it  was  a  great  shock  to  me,  for  it 
showed  me  how  she  felt,  and  her  cheeks  grew  scarlet  as 
fire;  but  I  acted  as  though  I  didn't  notice  it,  and  just 
mentioned  Mr.  Kirkland  easily  and  his  taste  in  books; 
it  turned  out  to  be  quite  enough,  though,  for  she  burst  in 
and  questioned  me  as  if  I  were  his  mother  or  his  sister, 
not  his  wife. 

After  a  little  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had  made  a 
mistake,  and  tried  to  change  the  topic,  and  when  I  did  so 
she  asked  about  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"How  awfully  in  love  with  you  he  is,  Mrs.  Kirkland. 
Poor  man!" 

And  I  guess  my  face  must  have  been  a  caution.      She 
laughed  out  loud.     "Oh,  don't  look  so  horrified!     Poor 
Mr.  Sinclair!     I  know  it  is  hopeless." 
102 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  told  her  she  was  all  off  the  track;  that  he  never  thought 
of  me. 

"My  dear,  I  never  saw  a  man  so  in  love  with  a  woman. 
Don't  be  angry." 

It  was  too  silly  to  be  angry  at.  I  couldn't  but  recall 
Minnie  Falsworth  all  the  time.  I  thought:  "Esther  Carey, 
here  you  are,  getting  paid  back.  If  your  husband  loves 
Miss  Pagee  as  Will  Falsworth  loved  you,  it  will  be  your 
just  deserts." 

But  I  didn't  think  he  did. 

No  letters  came  for  either  of  us,  and  we  sat  and  rocked 
and  talked,  and  she  grew  paler  and  bigger-eyed  every  day, 
and  more  silent.  I  sewed  and  was  making  myself  some 
cravats,  but  she  didn't  do  anything — only  leaned  on  her 
hands  and  studied  the  lake  or  the  woods,  and  sort  of  looked 
out  in  a  dreamy  and  wandering  way.  Her  aunt  played 
poker  with  her  friends,  and  we  were  alone  for  two  weeks. 

How  I  should  have  borne  it  if  Mr.  Kirkland  had  written 
to  her  it  is  not  easy  to  say.  One  evening  she  came  in  with 
a  box  of  marrons  glaces  and  offered  me  some.  They  had 
come  by  express  that  day.  There  was  a  card  on  the  top  of 
the  box  when  she  opened  it. 

"From  a  man  in  Boston,"  she  said,  and  I  knew  she  wasn't 
telling  me  a  lie.  She  couldn't  have  fooled  me.  We  were 
both  of  us  neglected  together. 

Things  in  Wall  Street  were  feverish.  I  couldn't  follow 
much,  for  the  papers  were  late  and  the  Wisconsin  oil-fields 
were  not  quoted,  and  honestly  I  didn't  care  a  great  deal. 
Why,  I  don't  know.  The  figures  my  husband  had  told  me 
about  weren't  real  to  me,  and  when  I  remembered  about  the 
Lake  of  Como — well,  I  couldn't  see  myself  there  at  all! 

Miss  Pagee,  though,  looked  as  though  she  had  walked  out 
103 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

of  some  story-book  or  a  marble  palace.  She  went  out  a 
great  deal  paddling  these  last  days.  Her  aunt  didn't  want 
her  to  go  far,  and  she  floated  around  in  sight,  paddling,  when 
the  lake  was  red  from  the  sunset  and  lay  like  a  fiery  sea.  In 
the  evening  she  let  her  veil  loose,  and  it  floated  around  her 
like  a  cloud. 

On  the  second  Friday  night,  when  my  husband  had 
been  gone  two  weeks,  Miss  Page  danced  very  hard  and 
went  around  with  the  others.  She  had  a  snow-white 
ball-dress  on,  and  I  could  hear  her  laughing  with  her  part- 
ners as  she  walked  up  and  down,  between  the  dances,  on 
the  piazza.  Before  I  went  up  to  my  room  she  came  over 
to  me. 

"  I  think  I  will  sit  out  this  dance  with  you,  Mrs.  Kirkland," 
and  she  laughed  and  talked  with  me  about  the  dancers,  mak- 
ing fun  of  them  rather  cuttingly.  Then  she  asked  me  if  I 
had  heard  from  Mr.  Kirkland,  and  for  a  minute  I  didn't 
answer.  I  knew  how  I  would  feel  if  she  said  she  had  heard. 
I  didn't  want  her  to  be  the  kind  who  would  tell  his  wife  she 
had  received  a  letter.  When  I  said  that  I  had  had  no  word 
from  him,  she  exclaimed,  softly:  "I  am  so  sorry.  I  hoped 
you  could  give  me  some  news  of  him  and  his  exciting 
fortnight." 

After  a  few  minutes  she  leaned  over  and  took  my  hands 
in  hers. 

"I  admire  you  awfully,  Mrs.  Kirkland.  Please  don't 
think  me  a  stupid  flatterer  to  tell  you  so.  You  are  the  sort 
of  woman  I  have  longed  all  my  life  to  be — so  quiet  and  so 
strong." 

She  got  up  and  said  that  she  must  go  up-stairs,  and  we 
walked  along  side  by  side  to  the  door  of  the  stairs  that  led 
up  to  my  room.  She  was  taller  a  good  deal  than  I  was — 
104 


A    SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 

nearly  as  tall  as  my  husband — and  she  bent  down  and 
whispered : 

"  Let  me  kiss  you.  May  I  ?"  And  she  did,  quickly,  and  as 
I  turned  to  mount  the  stairs  I  thought  I  heard  her  say,  "For- 
give me, "  but  perhaps  it  was  only  good-night;  anyway,  we 
parted  there  like  that,  and  she  was  laughing  and  gay,  and  her 
soft  scarf  was  all  floating  around  her  bare  neck  and  arms. 

"Why,  you  act  like  you  were  going  away,"  I  said. 

"  Didn't  my  aunt  tell  you  ?  I  thought  she  had  told  you. 
We  are  leaving  to-morrow  for  Lake  Champlain;  we  are  off 
on  the  six-o'clock  stage.  And  will  you  be  sure  to  say  good- 
bye to  Mr.  Kirkland  for  us  ?" 

And  my  first  thought  was:  "I  am  glad  she  won't  be  here 
when  he  comes  on  Sunday."  And  then  my  next  thought  was: 
"I  am  sorry  for  her." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HE  next  day  was  Saturday,  and  I  was  worrying 
about  my  husband.  Somehow,  until  Miss 
Pagee  had  said  good-bye  as  she  did,  I  hadn't 
been  able  to  think  of  him  once  in  the  right 
way.  Her  figure  had  been  between  us  every 
minute.  But  when  the  next  day  came  I  went  and  tele- 
graphed to  his  office. 

At  noon  a  lady  told  me  that  Miss  Pagee  and  Mrs.  Burnett 
had  not  gone — that  Mrs.  Burnett  had  caught  a  bad  cold, 
and  they  were  staying  on  over  Sunday.  It  shocked  me 
dreadfully.  It  didn't  seem  as  though  I  could  bear  it.  I 
went  up  to  my  room,  thinking  how  silly  I  was  and  how 
foolish  I  had  been  all  the  time  to  imagine  that  I  could  keep 
Mr.  Kirkland.  I  thought  of  Senator  Bellars,  and  how  he 
would  shrug  his  shoulders  and  say  that  he  had  warned  us 
both.  I  wanted  my  work  back  again.  Then  I  decided  it 
wasn't  work  I  wanted! 

"Esther  Carey,"  I  told  myself,  sitting  there  in  the  window, 
with  the  blinds  drawn  to  keep  out  the  heat  and  the  flies, 
"this  isn't  yet  the  hardest  thing  a  woman  has  to  do.  Aren't 
you  up  to  it  ?  Aren't  you  ashamed  ?"  And  I  was.  But  it 
was  the  hardest  thing  7  had  done  so  far,  anyway!  Through 
the  blinds  I  saw  the  ladies  rocking  and  doing  fancy  work. 
Miss  Pagee,  her  back  to  me,  sat  with  them,  a  little  to  one 
side,  her  white  parasol,  edged  with  lace,  in  her  hand. 
106 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  made  myself  look  at  her  long  enough  to  let  some  of  the 
jealous  feeling  that  ached  all  through  me  die  down.  It 
wasn't  easy.  I  just  stared  at  her  through  the  blinds  until 
I  had  thought  out  this:  "If  she  is  the  woman  for  Mr.  Kirk- 
land,  and  I  have  made  a  selfish  mistake,  why,  I  have  got  to 
find  some  way  or  another  to  put  it  right."  When  I  had  said 
this  to  myself  and  meant  it  I  felt  better. 

She  wore  a  big  hat  with  white  roses  around  it,  and 
seemed  to  be  sitting  there  waiting  for  some  one.  The  stage 
came  in  from  the  station,  and  crowds  of  passengers  got  off 
from  New  York.  She  thought  Mr.  Kirkland  would  come 
up  by  that  stage.  She  talked  with  the  guests,  and  one  of  the 
passengers  gave  her  a  paper  and  pointed  to  something  in  it 
which  she  looked  at.  Then  I  saw  her  go  down  the  steps 
toward  the  boat-house  under  her  white  parasol — one  of  the 
gentlemen  walked  along  with  her. 

I  got  a  book  out  of  my  trunk  and  read  until  I  got  inter- 
ested in  a  story,  and  then,  as  it  was  warm  and  I  hadn't  any- 
thing else  to  do,  I  laid  down  and  went  to  sleep  till  I  was 
wakened  by  some  one  bursting  into  my  room  and  rushing 
up  to  me.  It  was  Mrs.  Burnett  in  her  dressing-gown,  her 
hair  done  in  kid  curlers.  She  rushed  over  to  me,  and  fell 
on  her  knees,  clutching  me. 

"My  God!"  she  cried,  "my  God!  Keep  me  here — don't 
let  me  go  out  of  here!" 

As  soon  as  I  could  I  asked  her  what  was  the  matter. 

"Millie's  drowned — drowned!"  she  cried,  and  murmured, 
and  held  on  to  me  like  a  crazy  woman,  praying  me  not  to 
let  her  see  her  niece — not  to  let  her  go  out  of  my  room. 

I  tried  to  get  her  to  tell  me  what  had  happened,  and  one 
or  two  of  the  other  ladies  came  into  my  room  in  great 
excitement. 

I07 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

It  seems  that  Miss  Pagee  had  been  paddling  out  on  the 
lake,  and  that  her  paddle  slipped,  and  that  the  canoe  capsized 
and  she  fell  into  the  water.  A  guide  saw  her  and  hurried 
as  fast  as  he  could,  but  it  was  some  distance.  Before  he 
could  get  there  she  had  gone  under  the  third  time. 

"They're  bringing  her  in  now,"  the  ladies  said. 

I  don't  know  how  I  got  rid  of  Mrs.  Burnett,  but  I  did,  and 
went  right  down-stairs,  and  by  the  time  the  guide's  boat  was 
at  the  landing  I  was  waiting  there.  He  carried  her  up  in  his 
arms  as  if  she  were  a  child.  She  hung  all  limp  and  slender, 
and  he  brought  her  out  like  that.  There  was  quite  a  crowd 
gathered.  We  took  her  into  the  boat-house,  up-stairs,  and 
the  doctors  did  everything  they  could,  but  it  was  no  use — 
she  was  drowned. 

Nobody  else  seemed  to  want  to,  so  I  took  my  place  by 
her  side  and  stayed  there,  and  laid  her,  with  the  guide's 
help,  on  the  bed  they  got  ready  for  her,  and  I  did  all  that  was 
to  be  done.  Alone  there  that  night  with  the  lamps  and  the 
candles,  somehow  I  didn't  want  any  one  to  help  me,  and  I 
sort  of  felt  that  it  was  what  she  would  have  liked.  I  dressed 
her  thick,  wet  hair;  I  washed  her  and  dressed  her  in  the 
things  her  aunt  sent;  and  it  was  queer,  but  not  until  then, 
when  she  couldn't  make  my  heart  burn  and  ache  any  more, 
did  I  think  she  was  pretty.  She  had  never  been  my  kind, 
but  as  she  lay  there  so  still,  so  patiently,  in  that  long,  long 
stillness,  I  saw  what  my  husband  had  meant  when  he  said, 
"She  is  faultlessly  beautiful." 

Her  wet  clothes  were  drying  on  a  chair,  and  as  I  picked  up 
her  waist  something  heavy  fell  out  of  it — a  letter  all  soaked 
through:  the  one  Mr.  Kirkland  had  written  her  the  morn- 
ing he  left  for  New  York,  on  the  Paul  Smith's  paper.  It 
lay  heavy  as  lead  in  my  hands.  I  took  it  over  and  put  it  on 
108 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

her  breast,  where  she  had  worn  it  all  that  fortnight.  It  be- 
longed to  her — whatever  it  said — and  she  could  take  it  with 
her  where  she  was  going.  I  was  glad  nobody  else  had  found 
it,  and  I  couldn't  help  but  wonder  what  these  fourteen  days  had 
been  for  her,  and  think  how  she  had  stayed  over  at  the  last  in 
one  more  hope  of  seeing  him  again.  I  never  wanted  to  know 
what  that  letter  said.  I  understood  that  I  didn't  have  any 
real  right — it  might  have  put  my  husband  so  far  away  from 
me  that  he  could  never  get  back.  It  might  have  made  me 
despise  him — and  if  he  had  been  hard  to  her  and  cruel,  some- 
how I  couldn't  have  borne  it,  as  she  laid  there,  as  well  as 
something  else.  If  he  had  been  more  to  her  than  I  would 
ever  know,  I  wanted  to  let  that  secret  be. 

Anyhow,  nothing  would  ever  bother  her  any  more. 

Everything  was  quiet  down  there  at  the  boat-house;  there 
was  the  sound  of  the  lake  just  washing  up  around  the  boards, 
and  once  I  heard  a  boat  dragged  up  on  the  landing  and  a 
guide's  voice.  Some  people  were  going  out  fishing  early. 

Sitting  by  her  side  that  night  it  was  hard  to  believe  that 
she  was  a  dead  person.  She  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep, 
nothing  more.  Little  by  little  my  husband  and  what  she 
had  to  do  with  him  just  faded  out  of  my  feelings  entirely  as 
I  looked  at  her  lying  there. 

Then  and  there  I  forced  myself  to  think  over  every  hour 
of  that  long,  dreadful  day  when  the  two  had  been  out  from 
four  in  the  afternoon  until  three  in  the  morning,  and  I  faced 
it,  and  after  a  little  I  got  up  and  kissed  her  forehead.  It 
was  sweet  like  a  lily.  I  had  taken  off  her  rings  and  sent 
them  up  to  her  aunt,  and  her  hands  lay  white  and  helpless, 
and  I  kissed  them  too. 

I  stayed  there  with  her  until  half-past  five  o'clock,  and 
then  the  people  came  and  I  went  up  to  the  hotel. 
109 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

T  was  Sunday  morning,  and  there  wasn't  a 
soul  in  sight  on  the  way  up  to  the  hotel;  but 
by  the  time  I  reached  the  piazza  the  horn  of 
the  station  stage  blew  off  in  the  woods  at  the 
Paul  Smith's  turn.  It  always  brought  up  the 
passengers  from  the  fast  train,  and  I  waited  for  it.  When  it 
swung  around  and  up  to  the  block  I  saw  a  man  sitting  by  the 
driver,  a  man  that  might  have  been  Mr.  Kirkland.  He  was 
all  huddled  up  in  a  bunch,  his  hat  jammed  down  on  his  head, 
and  my  first  thought  was:  "Good  gracious,  he  isn't  him- 
self!" And  coming  like  that  on  what  had  gone  before,  the 
day  and  the  night,  it  seemed  as  though  I  couldn't  face  it, 
and  I  nearly  ran  down  the  piazza  to  escape  into  the  piney 
woods.  But  Mr.  Kirkland  was  climbing  down  off  the  stage 
stiffly  and  with  difficulty,  and  as  soon  as  he  turned  about  and 
I  saw  his  face  it  was  clear  he  hadn't  been  taking  anything, 
but  that  there  was  something  else  wrong.  He  lifted  his  hat 
to  me  with  a  bow,  as  though  I  were  a  great  lady,  and  when 
I  came  up  to  him  he  smiled.  He  was  almost  as  white  as  the 
dead  I  had  left.  His  beard  had  grown  out  and  his  hair  was 
long,  and  he  looked  as  though  he  hadn't  slept  or  eaten  for 
ages. 

"You're  ill,  aren't  you?"  I  said.     "Lean  on  me." 
And  he  answered:   "I  will,  my  dear  girl,  gladly." 
He  leaned  heavily  on  my  shoulder,  and  we  just  crawled  up 
no 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

to  our  room.  He  threw  off  his  overcoat  and  his  hat  on  the 
bed,  and  silently  made  a  sweeping  gesture  with  his  hand 
around  the  room  once  or  twice;  then  he  said: 

"To  the  four  winds,  Esther.  To  the  proverbial  'four 
winds  of  heaven.'  Those  celebrated  winds  are  more  greedy 
than  any  four  Jews  I  ever  heard  of!  Have  you  got  any 
cigarettes  ?" 

There  was  a  package  in  the  drawer. 

He  lit  one,  puffed  it,  threw  it  down,  and  lit  a  fresh  one. 
I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  waited  for  him 
to  tell  me  what  was  the  matter.  There  were  no  signs  of 
dissipation  about  him — nothing  but  great  fatigue  and  terrible 
excitement.  His  hands  were  dreadfully  dirty  and  stained 
with  cigarettes.  His  nails  were  bitten  down  to  the  quick. 
Mr.  Kirkland  was  so  tall  and  impressive-looking  that  he 
had  a  way  of  filling  up  the  place  wherever  he  was,  and  the 
little  up-stairs  room  appeared  too  small  for  him  as  he  filled 
up  the  window.  He  smiled  something  like  himself,  and  then 
said: 

"I'm  busted,  Esther!" 

And  it  was  the  first  slang  or  vulgar  word  I  ever  heard  him 
use. 

"I  haven't  a  cent  in  the  world — not  a  cent!  Last  week  I 
was  worth  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  though  I  didn't 
tell  you,  and  I  hung  on  till  the  market  closed  yesterday, 
when  I  was  wiped  out." 

I  understood  that  if  I  didn't  speak  then — for  he  was  star- 
ing at  me  eagerly — if  I  didn't  say  the  right  thing,  he  would 
be  terribly  angry  and  go  all  to  pieces.  He  couldn't  imagine, 
of  course,  how  differently  we  looked  at  poverty.  I  had 
always  been  poor,  and  it  was  more  strange  to  be  well  off 
to  me  than  the  old  way.  It  was  as  though  he  had  said 
in 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

that  we'd  get  on  a  car  and  go  back  to  some  old  place.  I 
said: 

"Well,  to  judge  from  the  faces  of  the  other  gentlemen  on 
the  stage,  you  weren't  alone  in  the  smash -up!"  And, 
queerly  enough,  I  had  hit  the  right  thing,  for  he  actually 
laughed  a  little. 

"Alone?  I  should  think  not.  Peterson,  who  came  up 
with  me,  failed  for  a  million.  The  market  has  been  insane 
— mad.  You  never  saw  such  scenes  and  such  confusion," 
and  he  told  me  all  about  it.  "Standard  Oil  was  offered 
on  the  Curb  for  125,  and  couldn't  get  a  bid.  My  broker 
went  to  pot;  I  might  have  pulled  out  otherwise."  He  waited 
a  minute,  then  said:  "But  you  don't  seem  to  realize  what 
this  means  to  you  and  me." 

And  I  only  said:  "I  have  always  been  poor,  and  I  can 
go  to  work  to-morrow.  I  don't  mind  for  myself,  but  I  know 
that  it  is  awful — perfectly  awful  for  a  man  like  you." 

He  waved  his  hands  about  in  the  same  old  gesture. 

"You  shall  never  work  an  hour  while  I  live,  Esther,"  he 
said,  solemnly.  "Don't  make  me  have  to  say  this  again. 
I'll  blow  my  brains  out  the  day  you  go  to  work  over  my  in- 
competent, miserable  failure.  I  wanted  that  money  just  for 
one  thing — just  for  one  thing." 

I  asked  him  if  he  cared  to  tell  me  what  that  was. 

"I  wanted  to  show  my  uncle  his  mistake." 

I  didn't  tell  him  that  I  didn't  think  it  was  worth  while  to 
go  through  such  a  hell  as  this  in  order  to  triumph  over 
Senator  Bellars. 

"Now,"  my  husband  continued,  "my  uncle  can  crow  over 
us — and  he  will." 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  asked  me  how 
long  it  would  take  me  to  get  my  things  packed,  and  I  said 

112 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

about  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  said  he  would  go  and  get 
the  hotel  bill  at  once  and  pay  it,  that  he  had  enough  for  that 
and  for  our  tickets  to  New  York. 

"We  can't  stay  here  an  hour,  and  I  never  want  to  see  this 
place  by  broad  day,  anyway."  He  told  me  that  the  heat  in 
New  York  was  infernal,  and  that  the  mental  and  nervous 
strain  of  the  week  had  been  beyond  words. 

One  of  my  husband's  friends  had  blown  his  brains  out  at 
the  ticker  in  the  broker's  office  when  sugar  fell  forty  points. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  Mr.  Kirkland  was  trying  to  be  as 
bright  about  it  as  he  could. 

"It's  all  in  a  lifetime,  Esther.  Everything  will  be  the 
same  in  a  hundred  years  from  now.  It  won't  make  any  dif- 
ference whether  you  have  a  diamond  tiara  or  no." 

I  was  folding  up  my  clothes,  and  the  hotel  bill  came  in. 
My  husband  paid  it,  and  said  he  would  take  the  quarter-to- 
eight  stage.  He  gave  the  boy  five  dollars  and  a  cigar. 

"I'm  pledged  to  Ellis  for  a  year's  salary,  and  I  won't  be 
able  even  to  work  that  off",  because  Ellis  &  Ellis  failed  on 
Thursday  and  brought  down  a  lot  with  them,  although  their 
failure  wasn't  made  public  until  yesterday." 

He  got  in  my  way  at  every  turn.  He  walked  about  and 
fell  over  things,  and  rolled  up  his  clothes  and  tried  to  stuff 
them  in,  and  once  or  twice  the  smoke  got  so  thick  that  I 
almost  fainted.  I  hoped  to  Heaven  he  would  not  speak  of 
Miss  Pagee.  I  wanted  to  get  away  without  telling  him. 
He  wouldn't  take  a  thing  to  eat  except  some  coffee,  and  he 
drank  that  strong  and  black  while  the  men  were  carrying 
down  our  trunk. 

The  guests  at  Paul  Smith's  stayed  in  bed  late  on  Sundays, 
and  we  were  the  only  people  for  the  train.  I  was  awfully 
glad.  I  couldn't  fix  Mr.  Kirkland  up.  He  wouldn't  hear 
"3 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

of  it,  and  even  refused  to  wash  his  hands.  I  took  him  away 
as  he  was,  talking  to  me  all  the  time,  talking  and  ner- 
vous. I  hoped  that  he  wouldn't  stop  at  the  office  or  any- 
where, so  that  they  would  tell  him  about  the  accident.  We 
sat  on  the  back  seat,  and  the  stage  started  off.  It  was  a 
lovely  Sunday  morning,  quiet  and  fresh  and  cool.  The 
lake  was  bright  with  flecks  of  sun,  and  the  smell  of  the 
piney  forest  was  spicy  and  refreshing.  Just  before  we  went 
around  the  turn  in  the  woods  I  looked  back  at  the  boat- 
house,  and  I  thought  to  myself  that  death  and  ruin  aren't 
very  pleasant  things  with  which  to  end  up  a  vacation. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

N  the  way  down  to  New  York  my  husband 
told  me  all  about  his  affairs,  and  it  did  him 
good  to  talk  it  all  out. 

"Mr.  Sinclair" — I  couldn't  help  but  say  it 
— "has  proved  what  a  poor  adviser  he  is." 
But  my  husband  wouldn't  listen  to  this. 

"Poor  Sin  was  nearly  insane.  He  seemed  to  think  of 
nothing  but  how  you  would  take  it." 

"Me!  Why,  I'm  the  last  person  he  had  anything  to  do 
with." 

"He  only  cared  what  you  would  say  or  think,  or  how  it 
would  affect  your  life,"  my  husband  said.  "He  seemed  to 
forget  all  about  me." 

"How  much  did  Mr.  Sinclair  lose?" 
"Sin?    Why,  nothing — he  had  nothing  to  lose.    The  poor 
chap  hasn't  had  a  red  cent  for  years.     Men  of  intelligence, 
my  dear  girl,  don't  need  money — they  live  by  their  charm." 
And  the  funny  thing  was  that  he  wasn't  even  sarcastic. 
I  didn't  dare  say  anything  more  or  let  myself  go.     I  could 
have  killed  Mr.  Sinclair.     Not  for  the  money  he  had  made 
my  husband  lose,  but  for  his  strange,  strange  influence.     I 
was  convinced  that  he  had  made  Mr.  Kirkland  drink  to  lose 
his  balance,  and  that  he  had  helped  on  the  flirtation  with 
Miss  Pagee,  so  that  his  friend  would  be  wax  in  his  hands  to 
do  as  he  wished. 

9  115 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

We  went  up  to  a  boarding-house  in  One  Hundred  and 
Eleventh  Street.  We  had  a  small  room,  and  when  you  went 
in  the  close  air  just  stifled  you  after  the  woods.  When  we 
were  going  to  bed  my  husband  said : 

"Ghastly,  sordid,  vile  as  is  this  place,  my  dear  girl,  please 
take  in  that  I  have  only  got  the  price  of  this  palace  for  a 
week  ahead!" 

Then  I  said  to  him,  "If  I  had  given  you  twice  as  much 
as  I  did  a  couple  of  weeks  ago,  could  you  have  held  out  on 
your  stock  ?" 

He  laughed  at  me.  "My  poor  child,  your  little  savings 
went  like  a  scrap  of  paper  in  a  fiery  furnace!" 

It  had  taken  ten  years  to  save  that  money,  saving  hard. 
It  wasn't  necessary  to  remind  him  of  that,  though.  He  had 
received  all  the  blows  he  could  bear  just  then.  His  lips  were 
cracked  and  dry.  He  didn't  know  where  he  put  things — 
first  he  threw  his  dirty  boots  on  the  bed,  then  he  laid  a 
lighted  cigarette  on  my  dress.  I  just  squeezed  it  out  in  time. 

"If  I  could  have  laid  my  hand  on  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  and  could  have  obliged  Mr.  Ellis  to  listen  to  me  for 
half  a  day,  I  could  have  saved  myself  and  the  firm.  That 
would  have  been  some  use,  but  ten  times  your  little  savings 
wouldn't  have  helped." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,  because  I  had  a  dreadful  feeling  that 
I  had  been  mean." 

He  stopped  walking  up  and  down  in  our  little  room  and 
asked,  "How,  pray?" 

Then  I  told  him  that  I  had  given  him  only  half  my  savings 
two  weeks  ago.  I  had  kept  the  rest. 

He  stood  stock-still  before  me,  and  his  jaw  dropped. 
Then  he  laughed  out  loud  like  a  child. 

"By  Jove!  By  the  immortal  gods!  Are  you  joking,  Esther  ?" 
116 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"No.    I  have  got  just  as  much  again  in  the  savings-bank." 

He  was  perfectly  delighted.  His  whole  face  altered.  If 
I  had  told  him  that  the  market  had  turned  and  that  he  was 
a  millionaire,  I  honestly  don't  think  he  could  have  shown 
more  pleasure.  He  said: 

"You  ought  to  have  been  born  in  France  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  You  would  have  saved  the  Treasury."  He  paid 
me  a  lot  of  compliments.  "It  will  give  me  a  start  again," 
he  said,  "until  I  can  look  around."  After  he  had  quieted 
down  a  little  he  said,  seriously: 

"I  don't  know,  in  your  acquaintance  with  me,  Esther,  if 
you  have  had  occasion  to  note  one  good  quality  in  the  stress 
of  all  you  have  been  through.  But  I  have  got  one  strong 
point:  for  fear  you  will  never  discover  it,  I'll  tell  you.  I 
keep  my  word." 

I  said,  "  I  know  you  do." 

"I  shall  never  speculate  on  a  margin  again.  I  have 
learned  my  lesson,  my  dear  girl." 

And  I  said,  "I  consider  it  cheap,  then,  though  I  don't 
suppose  you  will  agree  with  me  about  that." 

I  was  thinking  about  this  when  he  said : 

"Esther,  you  have  stood  by  me  in  a  way  of  which  you 
cannot  imagine  the  importance;  now,  what  can  I  do  for  you, 
my  dear  ?" 

He  was  holding  out  his  hand  and  looking  at  me,  reason- 
ably and  just  like  his  old  best  self. 

"Why,  take  a  hot  bath  and  go  to  bed,  will  you  ?" 

He  laughed  out  loud.  "Practical!"  he  said,  and  I  think 
he  was  a  little  disappointed.  "Practical,  and  common 
sense  in  the  face  of  tragedies." 

"At  any  rate,"  I  answered,  "I  am  going  into  the  bath- 
room to  let  the  water  run  right  now." 
117 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

E  went  to  work  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
He  seemed  to  forget  all  about  his  financial 
experience,  and  he  was  so  bright  and  so  well 
educated  that  it  was  no  time  at  all  before  he 
got  another  position  at  a  salary  of  a  hundred 
dollars  a  month.  He  had  crowds  of  friends,  and  they  were 
all  fond  of  him.  They  seemed  to  like  to  stand  by  him, 
and  even  in  the  little  boarding-house  the  parlor  would  be 
full  of  smoke  and  talk  every  evening.  The  landlady  gave 
the  parlor  to  Mr.  Kirkland. 

"Nobody  but  your  husband  has  ever  had  anything 
to  say  in  my  parlor  before,"  she  told  me,  "and  if  Mr. 
Kirkland  wants  to  use  it  like  a  library,  why,  he's  welcome." 
The  gentlemen  whom  my  husband  brought  up  to  One 
Hundred  and  Eleventh  Street  were  a  new  set.  They  were 
friends  of  his  class  in  Harvard,  men  whom  he  seemed  just 
to  have  remembered.  Mr.  Holmes,  the  publisher,  was  one, 
and  Mr.  Sartus,  the  writer,  was  another,  who  made  a  great 
name  for  himself  afterward;  but  the  one  who  came  most 
often  of  all  was  a  Western  man,  a  very  pushing  and  ener- 
getic man — Mr.  Collins. 

Neither  my  husband  nor  myself  spoke  of  Mr.  Sinclair, 

and  he   didn't  come   around.     Fanny  did,  though.     Her 

employer's  wife  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her,  and  invited 

Fanny  to  go  to  Europe  with  her  on  a  trip.     I  went  down  to 

118 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

see  Fanny  sail,  and  it  was  grand  to  watch  the  ship  push  out 
of  the  dock,  Fanny  standing  up  there  so  gay  and  pretty  and 
so  perfectly  delighted.  I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes  when  I 
realized  that  a  Carey  was  actually  going  abroad! 

I  was  the  last  person  on  the  dock,  and  I  waited  until  the 
boat  was  out  of  sight,  and  as  I  turned  to  go  off  the  landing 
who  should  I  see  but  Mr.  Sinclair  standing  there.  He  looked 
more  like  a  ghost  than  his  own  self,  and  he  gave  me  an  awful 
shock.  He  was  white  as  a  piece  of  paper.  His  silk  hat  was 
all  shining,  and  his  spick-and-span  black  clothes,  his  black 
mustache,  and  his  sleek  black  hair  and  eyes  gave  me  the 
feeling  that  he  had  been  to  a  funeral;  even  his  eyebrows 
looked  as  if  they  had  gone  into  mourning.  He  acted  as 
though  he  didn't  dare  to  speak  to  me  at  first. 

"I  had  an  idea  you  would  be  down  here  this  morning, 
Mrs.  Kirkland,  and  I  have  taken  the  great  liberty  of  joining 
you." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it:  he  was  all  broken  up.  I 
couldn't  but  feel  sorry  for  him;  he  had  always  been  nice  to 
me. 

"May  I  walk  over  as  far  as  the  Elevated  with  you  ?" 

I  had  to  do  the  talking,  for  he  hadn't  a  word  for  himself, 
until  we  got  into  the  car  and  I  saw  he  was  going  along  with 
me.  Then  he  began  to  tell  how  fearfully  he  felt  about  my 
husband's  misfortune. 

"So  badly,  so  dreadfully,  that  I  haven't  dared  to  approach 
his  wife." 

I  told  him  that  it  was  all  over,  anyway,  and  that  we  had 
both  of  us  forgotten  about  the  failure. 

"  But  I  haven't  forgotten  it,  and  there's  no  use  of  your 
saying  that  you  have,  Mrs.  Kirkland,  for  you  never  will." 

I  told  him  honestly  that  I  could  forget  the  money  part — the 
119 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

money  hadn't  ever  been  a  real  thing.  "As  far  as  money 
goes  for  me,  I  have  only  had  to  think  about  the  dollars  I 
earned  myself.  I'm  not  up  on  the  fortunes  that  come  with- 
out hard  work." 

Mr.  Sinclair  interrupted:  "Very  well,  then  you  can  forget, 
but  you  can't  forgive.  Isn't  that  true  ?" 

His  voice  was  as  funereal  as  his  black  clothes,  and  as 
tragic  as  though  every  one  in  the  world  were  dead  and 
he  was  the  mourner  for  them  all,  and  I  just  couldn't 
turn  on  him  harshly  and  say:  "Yes,  you  are  right.  I  can 
never  forgive  the  moral  part  of  it."  Nevertheless,  I  knew 
perfectly  well  that  this  was  the  time  for  me  to  speak  and  to 
clear  his  influence  right  out  of  my  husband's  life.  I  won- 
dered how  I  could  protect  Mr.  Kirkland  without  wounding 
Mr.  Sinclair.  He  carried  a  cane  with  an  ivory  handle,  and 
leaned  on  it,  looking  at  me  in  such  an  intense  way  that  I 
thought  all  of  a  sudden  what  Miss  Pagee  had  said  to  me 
about  Sinclair,  and  I  reddened  up  like  fire. 

"You  don't  answer  me,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "Can  you 
forgive  me  ?" 

If  I  said  yes,  then  he  would  be  up  to  the  house  that  very 
night,  and  my  husband  would  be  sucked  in  deeper  than  ever. 

"Why  don't  you  get  some  work  to  do  ?  Why  don't  you 
go  out  West  to  some  ranch  ?  Lots  of  men  are  going  West 
now." 

He  smiled  very  slowly,  and  it  wasn't  a  bit  like  Mr.  Kirk- 
land's  smile,  which  was  sunny  and  boylike. 

"The  farther  the  better?"  he  asked,  very  sadly.  "Is  that 
all  you  have  to  say  to  me  ?" 

There  was  nobody  in  our  car.  Fanny's  ship  had  sailed 
early.  Mr.  Sinclair  had  stuck  his  cane  in  the  holes  of  the 
car  mat  and  looked  down  at  it  very  hard.  Then  he  said, 
120 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

speaking  down  to  the  point  of  his  cane,  as  though  it  were 
another  human  being: 

"When  I  first  saw  you  at  Trinity,  the  morning  of  your 
marriage,  when  Kirk  did  me  the  honor  to  let  me  be  his  best 
man,  I  knew  that  you  would  pull  Kirk  out.  Stand  by  Kirk 
— he  is  worth  it.  I  know  him  better  than  anybody  else  does, 
perhaps,  and  he's  worth  it,  although  probably  nobody  else 
will  ever  tell  you  so,  my  dear  lady.  My  dear  lady" — very 
gently  and  softly.  He  took  his  silk  hat  off  and  wiped  his 
forehead  with  a  silk  handkerchief.  It  was  perfumed  with 
violet  essence.  I  saw  there  were  drops  of  perspiration  all 
across  his  brow  like  a  little  row  of  beads.  Then  he  put  his 
hat  on  and  rose. 

"Will  you  shake  hands  with  me?" 

"Why,  of  course."  But  I  tried  not  to  meet  his  eyes.  We 
had  come  to  the  station  before  the  one  where  I  changed  to 
go  to  Harlem.  He  held  my  hand  very  lightly  for  a  minute 
and  then  let  it  go.  I  wanted  to  alter  the  state  his  mind  was 
in,  so  I  asked  him  if  he  had  heard  about  Miss  Pagee.  He 
said,  "Yes,  of  course;  poor  girl!  —  poor  girl!"  But  he 
wouldn't  get  his  thought  on  this  a  bit:  he  just  looked  at  me 
in  the  most  intense  way,  and,  as  the  car  slowed  down,  he  said : 

"  I  don't  believe  there's  any  limit  to  what  you  can  do,  ex- 
cept in  my  case,"  and  he  touched  his  breast.  "There  is  a 
stone  right  here,  and  even  your  hand — your  hand,  my  dear 
lady — couldn't  roll  it  toward  the  West." 

While  I  was  wondering  what  to  make  out  of  him,  any- 
way, he  turned  and  went  right  out  of  the  car,  but  he  stood 
on  the  platform  until  my  train  started  out  again  from  the 
station,  his  silk  hat  in  his  hand,  and  the  other  hand  stuck 
in  the  breast  of  his  black  coat,  as  though  it  were  over 
the  stone. 

121 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  waved  to  him  and  smiled,  but  he  stood  stock-still  like  a 
statue  and  just  bowed  his  head  to  me. 

It  gave  me  a  perfectly  awful,  ghostly  feeling — perfectly 
awful!  I  didn't  know  what  to  do,  and  it  wouldn't  have  sur- 
prised me  a  single  bit  if  he  had  jumped  on  the  track  after 
our  train  had  gone  and  let  the  next  train  pass  over  him.  I 
didn't  dare  to  look  in  the  paper  for  suicides  for  days. 

Once  my  husband  said,  a  few  weeks  later: 

"Poor  old  Sin  doesn't  dare  come  here  any  more,  Esther. 
He  has  an  idea  that  you  have  taken  a  dislike  to  him,  and 
that  he  is  to  blame  for  all  my  losses.  I  wish  you  would  write 
him  a  line  and  ask  him  up.  I  assure  you  he  will  never  come 
until  you  do." 

"Then  Mr.  Sinclair  will  never  come." 

And  he  never  did. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

Y  husband  didn't  want  me  out  of  his  sight. 
He  told  me  everything.  He  was  Senator  Rox- 
burg's  private  secretary,  and  they  raised  his 
salary  after  the  first  few  months  to  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  a  month.  For  a  long  time  he 
never  touched  a  drop  of  anything,  and  grew  brighter  and 
more  cheerful  and  more  absorbed  in  his  work.  One  day  he 
left  me  in  the  morning  nervous  and  irritable.  He  found 
fault  with  everything,  with  the  coffee  and  the  rolls,  and  I 
had  to  make  him  some  cocoa  over  the  alcohol-lamp,  and  he 
drank  that  up  in  our  room.  When  he  went  out  it  seemed 
as  though  some  kind  of  a  storm  had  passed  through  the 
rooms.  Just  at  twelve  o'clock  one  of  my  bad  headaches 
came  on,  and  I  was  getting  ready  to  lie  down  when  a  boy 
brought  me  up  a  note  from  his  office.  It  read: 

"Please  come  down  immediately  and  fetch  my  green  um- 
brella." 

For  a  second  I  thought  to  myself,  why,  I  will  just  give  it 
to  this  boy  and  say  I  have  got  an  awful  headache;  but  in- 
stead I  got  up  and  dressed,  and  it  was  one  of  those  hot  days 
that  come  in  October  just  before  winter.  I  could  hardly  see 
what  I  put  on,  but  I  succeeded  in  fastening  up  my  hair  and 
getting  a  hat  pinned  on,  and  I  took  the  umbrella  and  went 
down  to  Nassau  Street.  When  I  reached  the  office  I  had  to 
wait  in  the  stenographers'  room  for  half  an  hour.  They  told 
123 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

me  that  Mr.  Kirkland  was  in  with  Mr.  Roxburg.  Here  I 
listened  to  the  click  of  the  Remingtons,  and  it  was  like  music 
to  me.  Mr.  Kirkland  came  in  and  beckoned  me  to  go  into 
the  office.  Mr.  Roxburg  had  just  left,  and  my  husband  was 
alone  in  an  elegant  room.  He  was  tired  and  excited,  but  I 
was  glad  to  see  that  he  was  all  right. 

"I  have  been  in  this  infernal  cage  for  four  hours  without 
moving,"  he  said,  "and  every  now  and  then  I  hear  a  whistle 
from  the  Bay  that  tells  me  that  some  boat  is  off  for  France 
or  England." 

He  then  walked  over  to  the  window  and  sat  down  at  Mr. 
Roxburg' s  table  and  began  to  sort  letters. 

I  handed  out  the  umbrella  to  him. 

"Here  is  what  you  asked  for,"  I  said,  and  he  look- 
ed up. 

"My  umbrella,"  he  repeated,  staring  at  it,  and  he  laughed 
out  loud.  "And  you  have  actually  brought  it  down!  You 
are  adorably  literal,  my  dear  girl!"  He  got  up,  though 
still  laughing.  "An  umbrella  on  a  glorious  golden  October 
day  ?" 

"  Didn't  you  want  it  ?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "of  course  not." 

I  stood  there  holding  it  out,  and,  for  the  first  time  since  I 
had  left  my  own  house  in  Brackettsville  when  Fanny  made 
a  fuss,  I  was  angry — very,  very  angry. 

"Then  it  was  a  joke  on  me." 

When  I  saw  how  bright  my  husband's  face  was,  for  he 
kept  on  smiling,  I  just  forced  back  that  awful  fury.  It  was 
lucky  for  me  that  I  did,  because  my  husband  came  up  and 
took  the  umbrella  out  of  my  hands  and  put  it  on  the  table, 
and  took  hold  of  my  arm  and  looked  at  me. 

"In  this  case  the  umbrella  is  what  the  French  would  call 
124 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

a  piege,  my  dear  girl.  /  wanted  to  look  at  you,  that  was 
all — that  was  all." 

And  he  did  look  at  me.  And  a  feeling  I  had  never  known 
with  him  began  to  come  over  me,  but  it  died  at  once  like  a 
little  thing  that  hadn't  time  to  grow  or  live.  I  saw  my  hus- 
band's expression  change  like  lightning,  and  I  understood 
— it  was  only  the  trouble  pursuing  him. 

"That's  all  right;  I  didn't  mind  coming  down.  But  I 
really  did  think  you  wanted  the  umbrella,  for  you  said  so." 

He  turned  around  again  to  his  work. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  excuse  me,  Esther,"  he  said, 
formally.  "  I  shall  be  occupied  until  late  to-night  classifying 
these  papers." 

I  went,  of  course.  I  don't  think  I  had  been  with  him  ten 
minutes,  but  I  was  glad  that  I  had  gone  down,  for  it  turned 
out  that  what  he  wanted  was  to  look  at  me — to  be  sure  I 
was  somewhere  where  he  could  call  on  me. 

I  don't  begin  to  say  right  here  that  he  was  not  an  autocrat 
and  that  he  didn't  love  to  exercise  his  rights.  I  don't  say 
that  it  didn't  appear  to  be  a  selfish,  tyrannical  thing  to  do, 
and  I  dare  say  that  there  isn't  a  strong-minded  woman  who 
wouldn't  laugh  at  me  or  who  wouldn't  swear  that  she  would 
see  her  husband  further  before  she  would  go  to  him  like  a 
messenger  boy!  I  didn't  look  at  it  that  way,  that's  all. 
He  needed  me  and  I  felt  it,  through  that  short  note  he  sent 
up  to  One  Hundred  and  Eleventh  Street,  and  I  knew  it  when 
he  looked  into  my  face.  That's  the  truth. 

And  he  came  home  that  night  at  midnight,  perfectly  tired 
out  and  exhausted,  but  himself,  and  there  was  no  horror  be- 
tween us — nothing  but  his  great  fatigue. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

R.  COLLINS  was  from  Nevada,  an  ardent 
politician  and  perfectly  delightful.  He  got 
my  husband  into  Senator  Roxburg's  office,  in 
spite  of  anything  that  might  have  been  said 
about  his  habits,  and  Mr.  Kirkland  began, 
heart  and  soul,  as  warmly  as  he  had  gone  into  finance,  to 
go  into  politics. 

Senator  Roxburg,  of  Wisconsin,  was  an  enemy  of  Senator 
Bellars,  and  I  really  think  he  gave  Mr.  Kirkland  the  position 
of  secretary  just  to  annoy  his  uncle.  My  husband's  salary 
was  raised  to  thirty-five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  with  a 
promise  of  a  rise  if  he  should  go  to  Washington  with  his 
chief.  As  it  was,  Mr.  Kirkland  took  charge  of  the  New  York 
office.  Like  many  other  politicians,  Senator  Roxburg  was 
a  financier  and  a  promoter  of  railroad  interests,  as  well. 

Nobody  looked  nicer  than  Mr.  Kirkland  did  going  off  in 
the  morning,  when  he  would  let  me  brush  him  off,  put  his  tie 
straight,  and  see  that  he  had  gloves.  It  didn't  do  much  good, 
though,  for  he  never  wore  them.  He  would  buy  a  pair,  and 
they'd  soon  be  reduced  to  just  one,  all  smelling  of  tobacco 
and  wrinkled  up,  and  when  he  took  to  rolling  his  own  cigar- 
ettes for  a  while  he  used  to  use  his  gloves  for  tobacco  pouches, 
and  one  night  one  fell  out  on  the  parlor  floor  when  the  gen- 
tlemen were  there.  I  was  awfully  ashamed,  but  they  seemed 
to  think  it  was  a  sign  of  genius,  and  Seth  Collins  said : 
126 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"  Does  Kirk  ever  show  any  signs  of  genius  excepting  his 
eccentricities,  Mrs.  Kirkland  ?" 

-  Then  Mr.  Holmes  asked  me  quite  seriously  where  I 
thought  Mr.  Kirkland's  talents  lay;  and  when  I  looked  up 
to  answer  I  was  just  going  to  say  something  funny  when  I 
caught  sight  of  my  husband's  face,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  me 
as  though  he  really  waited  to  see  what  I  would  answer — as 
though  he  cared;  and  I  understood  that  he  would  never  for- 
get what  I  said  then.  I  thought  of  the  manuscript  lying 
down  deep  in  my  trunk — the  drama  that  Holmes  had  re- 
fused— I  thought  of  his  financial  failure,  and  now  of  this 
third  venture,  and  I  knew,  if  I  went  back  to  any  of  the  other 
things,  he  would  be  discouraged.  There  was  the  law,  of 
course;  he  hadn't  tried  that,  or  the  ministry;  but  I  believed 
that  he  was  capable  of  going  on  and  trying  them  all  and  of 
being  bright  in  them  all,  too,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  now 
to  stick  where  we  were.  I  said : 

"Why,  I  think  his  genius  lies  in  politics." 

And  Mr.  Holmes  exclaimed  warmly,  though  he  was  a  cold 
man,  "I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that.  7  want  your  hus- 
band to  write  a  novel — a  new  book." 

And  this  gave  me  a  sharp  pain.  Mr.  Holmes  blinked  at 
me  through  his  double  glasses.  I  knew  as  well  as  he  did 
that  my  husband  was  a  born  author  and  a  born  poet,  but 
they  are  so  unlucky — nearly  always. 

Mr.  Collins  exclaimed:  "You  are  perfectly  right,  Mrs. 
Kirkland!  Kirk  has  found  his  rut,  and  I  hope  he'll  stick 
there." 

Those  were  just  the  words  I  had  used  in  my  own 
mind. 

My  husband  had  glanced  from  face  to  face,  like  a  boy  at 
his  examination,  to  see  what  each  gentleman  thought,  and 
127 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

he  appeared  relieved.  One  of  the  others,  who  was  a  lawyer 
in  a  successful  firm,  asked  my  husband  directly: 

"How  do  you  feel  about  it,  Kirk  ?" 

And  he  answered:  "Gentlemen,  whatever  my  wife  says 
goes.  She  is  the  wisest  little  woman  in  the  world!" 

And  I  was  very  much  embarrassed  and  a  little  ashamed, 
for  I  knew  it  hadn't  been  wisdom,  but  plain  common  sense. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

NE  evening  when  my  husband  had  failed  to 
come  home  to  dinner,  as  I  sat  up-stairs  in  my 
slippers  before  the  register,  he  stamped  in  at 
seven-thirty,  his  hat  and  overcoat  still  on,  his 
face  dark  and  heavy — the  old  trouble  lying 
there. 

"Esther,"  he  asked,  shortly,  "how  long  will  it  take  you 
to  get  ready  to  go  to  the  theatre  ?" 

Another  time  I  would  have  been  perfectly  delighted;  since 
our  marriage  he  hadn't  asked  me  to  go  to  a  show  or  any 
place  of  amusement  —  indeed,  he  had  seen  so  much  all  his 
life  he  didn't  care  any  more  for  amusements;  but  his  face 
this  night  didn't  suggest  a  pleasure  spree.  I  hesitated. 

"If  you  can  get  ready  in  five  minutes  we'll  go;  otherwise 
I'll  take  a  turn  around  alone." 
"I  will  be  ready." 

People  usually  like  to  put  on  nice  things  for  the  theatre, 
but  I  grabbed  a  jacket  and  a  hat  and  a  tippet,  while  he  stood 
there  in  the  doorway,  staring  straight  before  him.  I  dragged 
out  some  gloves,  and  when  I  went  to  put  them  on  on  the 
stairs  found  they  were  both  for  one  hand.  As  I  was,  so  we 
went,  and  so  fast  I  could  hardly  keep  up  with  Mr.  Kirkland; 
but  not  until  we  got  over  to  the  cars  did  I  realize  that  I  had 
on  my  bedroom  slippers  and  that  it  was  January  and  freez- 
ing. Why  I  didn't  take  cold  right  there  and  have  pneumonia 
I29 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  don't  know,  but  I  didn't.  My  husband  never  spoke  to  me 
until  we  got  into  the  Academy  of  Music  and  were  in  our 
places.  They  were  in  the  front  row.  The  performance  was 
Erminie,  and  my  husband  was  awfully  taken  with  the 
operetta.  He  enjoyed  it  as  a  boy  might  have  done,  and 
smiled  and  laughed  and  applauded  until  we  were  conspicu- 
ous. I  thought  it  was  a  bright,  pretty  piece,  and  that  the 
chorus-girls  were  lovely  and  awfully  immodest.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  act  my  husband  said: 

"Esther,  notice  the  girl  on  the  end — that  ideal  creature 
with  the  rosebud  mouth  and  the  divine  figure." 

She  was  pretty  as  a  picture,  and  at  Mr.  Kirkland's  atten- 
tion she  smiled.  He  never  took  his  eyes  off  her,  and  talked 
about  her  all  through  the  play  and  called  her  "Hebe,"  and 
said,  "A  man  could  float  to  heaven  on  that  girl's  grace." 

I  didn't  want  to  be  mean,  but  I  didn't  think  any  man 
would  float  in  that  direction  with  an  Erminie  chorus-girl. 

The  next  night  we  went  to  see  Erminie  again.  Stephen 
telephoned  me  to  meet  him  at  the  theatre,  and  we  had  the 
same  seats.  It  was  pretty  enough  to  see  twice,  but  after  we 
had  seen  it  four  times  I  began  to  get  sick  of  Erminie.  How- 
ever, it  still  amused  my  husband,  and  after  a  time  he  paid 
no  attention  to  the  show,  and  only  stared  and  stared  at  that 
one  pretty  girl.  He  called  her  Helen  when  he  spoke  of  her — 
her  name  was  Pearley  Drew  on  the  bill — and  once  he  said 
to  me  between  the  acts: 

"Is  that  the  face  that  launched  a  thousand  ships  ?" 

And  I  answered  that  I  guessed  so.  Pearley  Drew  was 
pretty  enough  to  set  a  good  many  things  afloat. 

We  saw  Erminie  every  night  for  six  weeks! 

We  had  the  same  places  always,  and  everybody  grew  to 
know  us  at  the  theatre.  The  ushers  called  my  husband  Mr. 
130 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Kirkland;  he  tipped  everybody,  and,  of  course,  Pearley 
Drew  knew  us  intimately.  But  I  am  sure  she  thought  my 
husband  a  lunatic  and  me  his  nurse. 

He  never  saw  her  once  off  the  stage.  That  was  the  curious 
part  of  it. 

Of  course,  as  I  sat  there  I  got  to  thinking  about  other 
things,  and  did  up  accounts,  and  lots  of  times  I  dozed  off  to 
sleep. 

Six  weeks! 

Don't  talk  to  me  about  the  theatre!  I  knew  every  line  of 
that  piece  by  heart;  and  most  of  the  time  my  husband  never 
thought  of  the  show  or  anything. 

One  night  he  said :  "Helen  is  getting  thin;  her  cheeks  have 
lost  that  divine  curve.  Esther,  don't  you  think  her  beauty 
has  worn  off?" 

And  I  answered  that  I  didn't  wonder  it  had  worn  off 
after  "launching  a  thousand  ships"  and  he  laughed  heartily. 

"You  remember  that?  The  quotation  is  from  Mar- 
lowe's Faustus — a  great  work  of  art,  by-the-way."  He  got 
up  out  of  his  seat — this  was  between  the  acts.  "Come, 
Esther,  come,"  he  said,  and  walked  us  out  of  the  theatre  as 
fast  as  possible.  I  can't  say  that  I  was  sorry  to  leave  Er- 
minie,  but  I  was  troubled  about  him — the  spell  was  broken. 
10 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

FTER  this  he  grew  terribly  melancholy,  and 
it  was  fearful  to  watch  him  fighting  all  alone, 
in  silence  and  in  the  dark,  and  yet  I  never 
spoke  to  him  about  his  battle. 

One  morning  after  breakfast  he  said: 
"  It  is  astonishing  how  cruel  a  good  woman  can  be.     Isn't 
it  ?" 

I  supposed  he  meant  me,  and  answered  that  I  didn't  know 
I  was  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

He  was  tying  on  a  new  cravat,  blue,  with  a  little  white  dot 
in  it.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  the  morning  papers  were 
all  scattered  around  the  room. 

"You  are  good  to  me,  my  dear  girl.  But  I  think  that,  as 
far  as  the  rest  of  the  world  goes,  you  don't  care  a  hang  what 
happens  to  it,  do  you  ?" 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do  for  somebody?"  I  asked 
him,  and  he  turned  around  quickly. 

"What  do  7  want  ?  There  it  is!  Why,  my  dear  girl,  you 
will  make  me  a  colossal  egotist  yet!" 

Then  he  told  me  Mr.  Sinclair  was  ill — had  been  perfectly 
miserable  for  a  long  time,  disheartened  and  dispirited — and 
that  he  had  come  into  Mr.  Kirkland's  office  once  or  twice, 
and  my  husband  was  worried  about  him. 

"He  is  hard  up  and  broken  up,  Esther — for  your  sake  I 
have  been  a  fiend  to  poor  old  Sin." 
132 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

Coming  as  this  did  on  the  back  of  my  husband's  melan- 
choly, it  troubled  me,  and  I  asked  him  again  what  he  wanted 
me  to  do,  and  he  replied,  severely: 

"I  want  you  to  do  as  your  heart  dictates." 

And  I  thought  for  a  little  while,  and  then  I  replied: 

"I  have  done  that  already." 

He  was  angry,  and  went  on  to  say  that  women  were  cruel 
and  full  of  prejudices,  and  that  he  prayed  to  be  delivered 
from  a  woman's  judgment,  and  that  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned he  was  going  over  to  Brooklyn  to  see  Mr.  Sinclair. 

I  took  my  hat  and  coat  and  told  him  I  was  going,  too. 
It  was  a  bitter  March  day,  windy  and  dull,  and  the  trip 
long  and  cold.  My  husband,  however,  took  it  as  an 
excursion,  and  was  gay  and  cheerful. 

"Poor  old  Sin!  He  will  be  wild  with  pleasure  to  receive 
this  embassy  of  peace.  He  has  been  eating  his  heart  out  over 
your  disapproval  and  over  his  own  hard  luck." 

Then  once  more  he  said  as  we  went  along:  "I'm  afraid 
Sin  is  very  hard  up  these  days.  I  have  an  idea  that  he  is 
quite  poor." 

Over  in  Brooklyn  we  took  a  hack,  for  we  didn't  know 
where  to  find  the  street,  and  were  horrified  when  it  turned 
out  to  be  an  alley  lined  with  tenement-houses,  and  could 
scarcely  believe  that  a  gentleman  lived  there,  and,  when  we 
stopped  in  front  of  the  number  Sinclair  had  given,  we 
couldn't  think  it  was  true.  The  door  was  wide  open,  and 
a  woman  and  a  man  talked  together  on  the  stoop. 

"Mr.  Sinclair?"  my  husband  asked. 

The  woman  stared  at  us.     "Are  you  his  brother  ?" 

"No,  his  best  friend." 

"Well,"  said  the  woman,  "you're  too  late.  He  died 
yesterday." 

'33 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

It  went  all  through  me  that  it  was  my  fault  for  being  so 
hard  and  so  cruel. 

We  asked  if  we  could  go  up-stairs. 

"Yes,  right  up  to  his  room  on  the  next  floor,"  the  woman 
said. 

The  room  was  bare  and  poor.  Poor  Mr.  Sinclair  lay 
there  in  the  coffin  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  the  gas  turned 
low  and  the  shades  drawn.  It  was  piercing,  icy,  dreadfully 
cold.  There  was  nothing  but  his  bed  and  bureau  and  a 
couple  of  chairs  and  a  wash-stand — not  even  a  trunk  of 
clothes  in  the  place. 

My  husband  gazed  at  Mr.  Sinclair  for  a  long  time.  His 
face  was  thin  and  drawn,  but  quite  peaceful.  He  didn't  look 
to  me  as  much  like  a  dead  man  as  he  did  that  day  on  the 
"L"  station  platform.  The  woman,  who  had  stayed  in  the 
room  with  us,  said  to  us: 

"  He  told  me  his  brother  would  come  on  from  Milwaukee, 
but  no  one  has  ever  showed  up.  He  owed  me  two  months' 
rent." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  his  friends  know  ?"  my  husband 
asked.  He  could  hardly  speak. 

"Why,  he  told  me  he  didn't  have  any  friends,  sir,  and  I 
believed  him.  He  never  had  any  money,  and  sold  all  his 
clothes — his  trunk,  too." 

I  stood  by  my  husband;  I  was  afraid  he  would  fall,  shak- 
ing as  he  did,  white  as  the  dead  man.  He  walked  over  to 
the  bureau-drawers  and  opened  them.  Every  one  was  empty 
except  for  a  little  packet  which  my  husband  took  up.  The 
woman  didn't  care.  "Nothing  of  value,"  she  kept  saying. 
My  husband  put  the  envelope  in  his  pocket  defiantly,  and 
the  landlady  seemed  afraid  of  him. 

"If  you  have  robbed  this  man,"  Mr.  Kirkland  said,  in  a 
134 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

dreadful  voice,  "don't  think  to  escape.  I  will  have  you  put 
in  the  penitentiary  for  life." 

"  Robbed  him !  I  haven't,  indeed,  sir;  he  owes  me  money. 
He  hadn't  many  things,  but  what  he  did  have  he  sold,  and  he 
wouldn't  take  anything  from  us — he  was  too  proud." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  my  husband  asked.  "What  kind 
of  things  do  you  speak  of?" 

And  she  said,  as  if  she  were  ashamed,  "Why,  food,  and 
like  that." 

"Do  you  mean — ?"  my  husband  murmured,  and  the 
woman  replied: 

"He  was  often  hungry — you  may  say  he  starved  to  death. 
That's  what  the  doctor  told  us  when  the  pneumonia 
set  in." 

My  husband  gripped  the  stand  and  cried  out: 

"My  God!  Sin! — Sin!"  and  he  burst  into  tears.  The 
woman  slipped  out  here  and  left  us,  and  after  a  little  the 
quiet  calmed  my  husband  and  he  wiped  his  eyes  and  handed 
me  the  packet  without  a  word.  They  were  letters  from  my 
husband  to  Mr.  Sinclair,  written  from  Paris,  and  a  little 
picture  of  me  that  I  had  given  my  husband  and  which  he 
thought  he  had  lost. 

He  didn't  breathe  a  word  of  reproach  to  me,  but,  when  he 
went  back  to  the  side  of  Mr.  Sinclair's  coffin,  murmured, 
"This  is  a  mission  of  peace,  old  man — a  mission  of  peace!" 
And  he  said  other  things  that  I  couldn't  hear. 

Down-stairs  he  made  the  arrangements  with  the  woman, 
and  paid  her  everything,  and,  in  the  Elevated  on  the  way 
home,  under  his  breath  he  murmured: 

"Starved  to  death!  My  God!"  He  turned  to  me  and 
said,  violently,  "Think  of  it! — think  of  it!" 

"No,"  I  begged  him,  "don't — he  wouldn't  want  us  to. 
135 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  didn't  give  any  trouble  to  any  one,  and  he  wanted  it  that 
way." 

He  left  me  at  the  Fiftieth  Street  junction  and  said  he 
wanted  to  walk  in  the  Park,  and  I  understood  he  wished  to 
be  alone  and  think,  and,  honestly,  I  didn't  dare  follow  him. 
As  it  was,  I  went  home  perfectly  used  up  and  sick  at  heart. 
That  was  Sunday  night,  and  I  never  saw  or  heard  from  my 
husband  for  three  days. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

URING  that  wait  Mrs.  Howland,  our  land- 
lady, came  in  to  me  and  said: 

"Mrs.  Kirkland,  I  have  been  through  the 
same  mill;  only  my  husband  wasn't  a  gentle- 
man, and  it  was  harder.  Let  me  help  you." 
We  went  out  together,  she  and  I,  and  we  went  everywhere 
that  either  of  us  thought  he  might  be.  She  wouldn't  let  me 
tell  the  police,  and  she  made  me  understand  that  times  like 
these  come  to  every  man  who  drinks  as  my  husband  did.  I 
told  them  down  at  the  office  that  he  was  ill. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  day  he  came  in  and  stood  in  the 
doorway,  a  wreck  of  himself — his  eyes  staring  and  his  beard 
grown.  I  really  only  knew  him  by  his  voice. 

"Just  let  me  get  to  bed,"  he  said,  "and  send  for  some 
black  coffee  and  some  cigarettes;  will  you  be  so  good  ?" 

He  was  sick  in  bed  a  week,  and  got  up  feverish,  nervous, 
and  shaking,  and  went  down  to  his  work  like  a  man  out  of 
the  hospital.  I  nursed  him  as  one  would  a  baby,  and  read 
the  papers  to  him.  He  didn't  show  any  desire  to  keep  in 
touch  with  what  was  going  on.  He  only  wanted  his  atten- 
tion held,  that  was  all. 

He  went  on  like  this  week  after  week,  but  his  mind  was 

so  strong  that  he  stood  it  perfectly  wonderfully,  and  with  a 

day  or  two  of  rest  in  our  room  he  would  be  able  to  go  back. 

I  never  said  anything.     I  never  knew  what  to  say.     It  was 

137 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

too  sad  to  me,  and  I  wasn't  sure  what  would  be  the  good  of 
speaking  to  a  man  like  Mr.  Kirkland,  a  man  so  cultured 
and  so  clever — knowing  the  world  and  having  travelled 
everywhere.  He  must  have  known  all  the  things  I  could 
say,  by  heart.  We  never  referred  to  it.  In  the  daytime  I 
used  to  think  up  all  kinds  of  different  advice  to  give  him  and 
things  to  suggest,  but  when  he  came  in  and  wasn't  himself, 
of  course  I  couldn't  speak  then,  and  the  day  after  I  was 
too  busy  amusing  him  and  reading  to  him  and  keeping  up 
his  spirits. 

During  his  sickness  he  asked  me,  "Where's  the  picture 
of  the  Hebe  we  used  to  see  dance  in  Erminie?" 

I  got  out  the  photograph.  He  had  me  get  out  a  lot  more 
actresses'  pictures  which  he  had  bought  in  Paris  and  London, 
and  he  looked  them  over,  smoking,  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  he 
told  me  a  lot  of  stories  about  the  actresses  and  seemed  quite 
carried  back  to  his  old  life. 

"I  guess  you  like  foreign  travel  pretty  well,"  I  remarked, 
and  he  answered  sharply: 

"Just  as  one  likes  the  Sphinx,  Esther!  You  confuse  your 
values."  But  after  a  minute  he  added,  "I  never  want  to 
see  the  Continent  again." 

As  to  where  my  husband  spent  those  dreadful  three  days 
he  never  told  me,  and  he  never  referred  to  Mr.  Sinclair  by 
name.  While  he  was  sick  Mr.  Roxburg  sent  a  man  up  to 
see  him  every  day  or  so,  and  they  talked  together  about 
some  matters  my  husband  had  charge  of,  and  I  never  was 
so  astonished — or  I  guess  I  had  better  say  proud — as  when 
I  heard  Mr.  Kirkland  talk. 

I  got  him  sitting  propped  up  by  his  pillows  and  a  nice 
jacket  on,  and  he  had  been  shaved  and  looked  thin  but 
pretty  well,  and  he  talked  to  the  man  from  Senator  Roxburg 
138 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

so  fast  and  authoritatively.  It  was  about  the  silver  ques- 
tion, and  Senator  Roxburg  and  Senator  Brice  and  a  lot  of 
others  were  interested  in  it,  and,  when  my  husband  had  fin- 
ished what  he  had  to  say,  the  man  told  him,  "It's  a  pity 
you  couldn't  draft  out  what  you  have  been  saying,  Mr. 
Kirkland." 

And  my  husband  laughed  and  said: 

"For  Roxburg  to  use  ?  When  I  write  down  what  I  say  I 
shall  be  in  the  Senate  myself,  Mr.  Guffy." 

I  watched  Mr.  Guffy's  face  as  he  took  down  a  few  notes, 
and  I  knew  that  he  thought  my  husband  would  be  in  an 
inebriate  asylum  before  he  ever  stood  in  the  United  States 
Senate,  and  it  made  me  perfectly  furious. 

"I  understand  that  you  have  been  secretary  for  my  uncle, 
Senator  Bellars,  Mr.  Guffy,"  my  husband  said.  "He  is  a 
good  master  but  a  damned  poor  relation;  but  a  relation 
once  removed  always  removed,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

The  following  day  he  was  down  in  his  office,  and  the  strain 
of  the  new  work  and  the  accumulation  of  old  work  was  too 
much  for  him.  He  wasn't  himself  any  of  the  time  hardly, 
and  I  knew  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  keep  his  position  long. 
He  didn't  send  for  me  to  go  down-town  any  more.  He  gave 
his  time  up  to  the  office  and  to  drink.  His  splendid  mind 
and  splendid  spirits  all  seemed  just  to  stand  there  and  watch 
him  go  down  into  ruin.  It  was  hard  for  a  wife  to  bear. 

I  was  sure  it  was  my  fault. 

I  passed  Senator  Bellars  on  the  corner  of  our  street  late 
one  afternoon.  I  don't  know  why  he  was  up-town  there, 
but  he  cut  me,  and  I  felt  that  he  had  a  right  to. 

One  night  after  Mr.  Guffy  had  left  and  we  were  sitting 
there  before  turning  the  light  up,  Mr.  Kirkland  began  un- 
der his  breath  to  recite  a  little.  I  couldn't  hear  very  well, 
139 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

and  I  didn't  like  to  speak,  but  he  quoted,  all  at  once:  "'/ 
am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life. '  What  a  wonderful  asser- 
tion! What  an  illuminating  assertion!  At  the  entrance  of 
the  Rural  Cemetery  in  Albany  they  have  put  the  figure  of  a 
splendid  angel  with  that  line  along  its  base.  The  Sinclair 
plot  is  there."  That  was  his  first  and  only  mention  of  Mr. 
Sinclair. 

I  hated  to  look  the  boarding-house  people  in  the  face;  I 
knew  they  were  sorry  for  me,  and  Mrs.  Rowland  herself  was 
the  only  one  I  spoke  to. 

Several  times  messages  came  up  from  the  office  to  me,  and 
now  I  just  hoped  and  hoped  that  he  would  ask  me  to  go 
down  even  with  an  "umbrella,"  so  that  I  might  feel  of  some 
use. 

Finally,  one  day  he  did  send  up-town  for  me  and  told  me 
to  come  in  a  carriage  and  wait  for  him  at  the  door  of  the 
Equitable  Building  at  two.  It  was  a  rare  thing  for  us  to 
take  a  carriage,  and  I  was  glad  that  I  could  be  of  some  use. 
I  enjoyed  the  ride  down,  and,  though  the  streets  were 
blocked,  I  was  early,  and  at  two  I  sent  in  word  to  him  to  say 
that  I  was  there,  and  he  sent  out  instructions  that  I  was  to 
wait. 

So  I  did. 

Mr.  Collins  came  along  and  saw  me,  and  stopped  to  speak 
to  me.  By  his  voice  I  could  tell  that  he  was  sorry  for  me, 
too,  and  I  took  a  dislike  to  him. 

At  half-past  three  I  sent  in  again  and  they  brought  word 
that  I  was  to  wait. 

I  waited  in  front  of  that  office  door  five  hours,  and  when 
at  length  I  went  in  myself  they  seemed  surprised  to  see  me. 
My  husband  had  been  gone  a  long  time — he  had  gone  out  of 
the  office  another  way. 

140 


A   SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

I  didn't  expect  to  find  him  at  the  house,  and  he  wasn't 
there,  and  I  began  the  long,  dreadful  wait  again.  But  this 
time,  at  the  end  of  the  second  day,  I  told  Mrs.  Rowland: 

"I  am  going  to  start  alone  this  time.  If  he  comes  back 
before  I  do,  be  good  to  him,  will  you  ?" 

"Where,  for  God's  sake,"  she  asked  me,  "are  you  going 
to  begin  ?" 

And  I  said :  "  I  have  an  idea  that  he  has  gone  up  to  Albany 
to  the  cemetery  where  Mr.  Sinclair  is  buried.  I  think  there 
is  something  sort  of  calls  him,  and  I  am  going  there." 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

N  the  way  to  Albany  I  made  up  my  mind. 
It  seemed  right  for  me  to  do  just  as  I  was 

going  to  do,  and  I  decided  that  if  I  found  Mr. 

Kirkland  here  it  was  to  show  me  that  I  was 

being  led  in  the  right  way.  I  can't  say  why 
I  ever  thought  of  Albany,  but  the  idea  came  to  me  like  an 
inspiration.  I  took  a  hack  at  the  station,  and  drove  up  to 
the  cemetery.  It  was  a  glorious  day,  bright  and  sunny,  as 
though  there  were  no  hard  things  to  bear  in  the  world 
and  no  places  laid  out  like  cemeteries  in  lovely  parts  of  the 
country.  The  air  was  good  to  breathe  after  months  in  New 
York,  and  as  I  drove  out  of  Albany  into  the  country  it  made 
me  think  that  perhaps,  after  all,  right  here  in  Albany,  I  could 
put  an  end  to  my  unhappiness  and  get  a  little  peace  out  of 
life.  I  had  reached  my  limit.  There  was  the  truth  of  it. 
Everybody  can  go  just  so  far,  and  then  they  snap. 

At  the  cemetery  gate  I  told  the  driver  to  wait  for  me,  and 
I  went  in  on  foot.  Little  children's  graves  with  white  lambs 
on  the  stones,  and  crosses  and  garlands  all  covered  with 
names  I  did  not  know,  shone  around  whitely  in  the  green 
plots,  and  I  wondered  if  the  "Esthers"  who  had  come  to 
rest  here  had  brought  such  failures  as  I  had.  On  one  of 
the  little  stones  it  said: 

In  memory  of  JBobbs,  a  0oo£>  little  cbtlD. 
142 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

The  date  was  fifty  years  ago,  and  I  couldn't  but  think 
that  "the  good  little  child"  was  better  off  to  have  died  small 
than  to  have  lived  to  lie  in  a  larger  bed  at  the  end  when  no- 
body could  write  "good"  on  the  stone. 

Of  course,  it  was  silly  and  morbid — a  cemetery  isn't  a  very 
cheerful  place  at  any  time,  and  when  I  had  reached  the 
Sinclair  plot  I  felt  ready  to  lie  down  myself,  and  to  give  up 
the  problem.  The  square  was  hedged  in  by  box,  and  there 
was  only  one  grave,  freshly  turfed,  not  marked  by  any  stone. 
I  don't  know  why,  but  I  expected  to  see  my  husband  in 
that  special  place.  Mr.  Sinclair's  lonely  grave  chilled  me 
through. 

For  a  little  while  I  waited  there,  thinking  about  my  hus- 
band's friend,  and  I  saw  some  scraps  of  paper  on  the  ground, 
and  wasn't  surprised  to  recognize  Mr.  Kirkland's  writing. 
Only  a  few  lines  of  poetry  on  a  sheet  of  the  Hotel  Delavan 
paper,  and  one  ran: 

"Beyond  the  pale  dead  ranks  of  men's  desires, 
Beyond  the  petty,  proud  disturbances  ..." 

And  Mr.  Sinclair  seemed  to  be  just  this  that  my  husband 
had  written.  On  another  paper  was  drawn  a  square,  as 
though  it  were  meant  for  a  tombstone,  and  under  it: 

"Even  the  weariest  river 

Winds  somewhere  safe  to  sea  ... " 

Sad  and  desolate  as  it  all  was,  and  pleading  to  me  for  for- 
giveness for  the  dead  and  for  the  living,  I  was  hard — hard — 
and  my  heart  was  cold  and  tired,  and  when  I  reached  the 
Delavan  House  and  asked  for  Mr.  Kirkland's  room  and 
they  showed  me  up  to  it,  I  was  as  indifferent  to  the  fact  that 
H3 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  had  found  my  husband  as  if  he  had  been  a  total  stran- 
ger. 

There  was  no  answer  to  my  knock,  but  the  door  wasn't 
locked,  and  I  went  in.  He  was  in  the  dressing  -  room 
beyond;  he  had  taken  a  suite  of  rooms  and  bath,  and  he  was 
washing  his  face,  his  collar  off  and  a  towel  in  his  hand.  He 
stood  stock-still  and  stared  at  me,  pale  as  death,  unkempt 
and  rough-looking,  ill  and  thin,  but  he  was  himself. 

"I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  anybody  in  my  life!"  he  cried. 
"How  wonderful  of  you,  my  dear  girl,  to  come  here  like  this! 
No  one  but  you  in  the  world  would  have  contrived  it." 

He  came  back  into  the  room,  with  his  hand  out  to  me, 
and  smiling  just  as  naturally  as  if  we  had  parted  the  day 
before. 

I  sat  down  by  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  did 
not  notice  his  hand.  I  knew  if  I  didn't  speak  out  fast  and 
well  that  it  would  be  all  up  with  me,  that  the  moment  would 
pass  and  I  would  be  caught  again  in  the  trap  of  fate  as  tight 
as  ever  before,  so  I  said: 

"I  didn't  have  any  trouble  to  find  you,  for  I  recollected 
that  you  had  said  something  about  Mr.  Sinclair's  grave.  I 
guess  it  drew  you  here.  I  knew  you  would  come  up  here 
some  day  or  other,  and  I  was  right." 

He  frowned — he  never  liked  the  I's  dotted,  and  it  was  the 
first  time  in  our  married  life  that  I  had  let  him  see  that  I 
really  knew  everything  that  went  on. 

His  face  darkened,  and  I  understood,  then,  that  I  had  done 
right  in  not  ever  "preaching"  at  him;  it  would  have  been  an 
end  long  ago  of  him  and  of  me. 

"I'm  glad  you  are  all  right,"  I  said,  "and  that  I  found  you 
here  alone  like  this,  for  I've  quite  a  good  deal  to  say." 

He  took  his  coat,  put  it  on;  then  he  dragged  it  off  again 
144 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

and  found  his  vest,  and  put  that  on;  lifted  the  hair-brush, 
laid  it  down,  and  didn't  brush  his  hair.  He  came  and  planted 
himself  in  front  of  me,  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  a  funny 
expression  on  his  face — rather  amused  and  curious.  All  went 
very  fast,  for  I  didn't  mean  that  he  should  break  in  with 
clever  words  and  phrases,  to  put  me  off  the  track  and 
frighten  me  by  his  intellect. 

"I've  thought  a  lot  these  last  few  days  about  what  your 
uncle  said — Senator  Bellars  told  me  that  I  would  'ruin'  you. 
As  it  has  turned  out,  he  was  right.  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  listen 
to  him  then."  The  words  I  said,  as  soon  as  they  began  to 
be  real  truth,  grew  so  big  in  my  mouth  that  they  choked  me, 
and  they  came  faster  than  my  breath  came — I  was  fright- 
ened to  death — I  couldn't  go  on! 

My  husband  said,  coldly:  "Your  mention  of  my  uncle  is 
particularly  interesting  just  now.  I  fail  to  see  what  any- 
body on  God's  earth  has  to  do  with  husband  and  wife — with 
you  or  me." 

"Gracious!"  I  told  myself,  "I've  begun  wrong!" 

"  Perhaps  they  haven't  anything  to  do  with  us,  but  I'm  not 
the  kind  of  a  woman  for  you,  and  that  is  clear." 

He  walked  over  to  the  bureau  and  brushed  his  hair  this 
time — brushed  it  hard  and  arranged  it  very  carefully;  but 
his  hands  trembled  so  that  he  dropped  the  brush.  I  thought 
I'd  pick  it  up  and  give  it  to  him;  then  decided  to  leave  it 
alone — so  it  lay  there.  My  husband  returned  to  my  side  and 
stared  down  at  me,  his  face  as  stern  as  a  judge's;  but  it  was 
a  wonderful  thing  that  in  the  short  time  between  the  bureau 
and  the  table  his  expression  had  changed — changed  forever, 
as  though  some  heavenly  wave  had  washed  it  clean. 

"I  think  I'm  safe  in  saying,  Esther,"  my  husband  said, 
"that  you're  the  woman  of  the  fewest  words  in  my  experi- 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

ence,  and  to  me  your  silence  has  been  deep  gold  to  the  core — 
it  has  made  a  species  of  atmosphere  in  which  unconsciously 
I  have  existed — eaten,  slept,  dreamed,  worked — and  I  ex- 
pect you  will  let  me  say  it — drunk."  (His  lips  trembled,  and 
the  hand  that  he  put  up  to  touch  them  trembled  more.  I 
had  no  feelings — anyhow,  whatever  came  to  me  then  like 
sentiment  or  kindness  I  crowded  back — back,  saying,  "Re- 
member the  horrible,  horrible  days  you've  gone  through. 
It  will  be  good  to  be  free."  And  I  watched  him  calmly  and 
kept  saying  to  myself:  "Now,  in  just  a  few  moments  more,  I 
will  go  out  and  never  see  him  again.")  He  went  on:  "Now 
that  you  have  spoken,  however,  Esther,  it  is  to  the  point  and 
tremendous.  I'm  to  understand  you've  come  up  here  to 
find  me  and  tell  me  you  are  going  to  leave  me  ?" 

And  I  said,  "Yes." 

His  mouth  gave  an  awful  twitch.  He  walked  back  to  the 
bureau  and  took  out  from  the  drawer  a  collar  this  time  and 
a  cravat,  but  couldn't  put  them  on.  Many  times  I  had 
helped  him  when  he  was  nervous  and  trembling,  but  this 
time  I  let  him  fumble  and  try:  any  other  man  would  have 
cursed.  He  finally  let  both  the  collar  and  the  cravat  fall  to 
the  floor,  came  back  and  sat  down  by  the  table  and  took  out 
a  box  of  cigarettes  from  his  vest — the  packet  was  empty; 
he  let  that  fall. 

I  didn't  say  a  single  word,  and  was  growing  disappointed 
with  myself  not  to  be  able  to  find  the  right  thing  for  the  time. 
I  wanted  to  tell  him  that  I  was  an  utter  failure,  but  I  hadn't 
the  heart  to  mention  myself.  He  was  trying  to  sit  up  and 
pull  himself  together,  and  after  a  second  asked,  very  politely: 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say,  Esther?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  that's  all." 

And  he  went  on:  "I  don't  blame  you  in  the  least — not  in 
146 


HE    BADE    ME    GOOD-BYE,    NOT   MEETING    MY    EYES 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

the  least.     You  have  right,  reason,  and  common  sense  on 
your  side." 

I  had  turned  to  stone,  and  he  didn't  even  touch  my  pity, 
but  only  recalled  things  that  hurt  and  disgusted  me — hours 
of  waiting  and  wretched  fear  and  pain.  When  I  got  up 
finally,  he  asked: 

"Are  you  going  now?" 

"The  night  boat  leaves  at  six — I  want  to  catch  that." 

Remaining  where  he  was  in  his  chair  he  held  out  his  hand 
and  bade  me  good-bye,  not  meeting  my  eyes. 

I  touched  his  hand;  it  was  as  cold  as  ice.  When  I  had 
reached  the  door  and  I  saw  that  I  was  really  free  and  that  he 
was  going  to  let  me  go  without  an  effort  to  keep  me,  I  took 
courage.  I  went  down-stairs  and  out  of  the  hotel.  As  I  got 
my  bag  in  the  parcel-room  I  was  glad  I  hadn't  spent  a  night 
in  Albany,  and  I  tried  to  realize  how  glad  his  uncle  would 
be  to  take  him  back  again,  and  I  thought  that  he  could  get 
a  divorce  from  me  for  desertion,  and  marry  some  clever 
woman  who  would  succeed  where  I  had  failed. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  boat  left,  and  I  walked 
slowly  down  to  the  pier.  Albany  was  quiet  and  calm.  I 
knew  I  had  turned  over  a  great  big  page  in  my  life.  I  sat 
out  on  the  deck  and  watched  the  view  in  the  sunset,  but  I 
was  as  high  strung  as  though  I  had  a  fever,  and  realized  it 
when  I  went  to  my  cabin  and  laid  down.  I  couldn't  sleep, 
and  toward  midnight  opened  my  shutter  wide.  We  were  far 
down  the  river,  and  the  stars  were  setting,  and  it  was  lovely 
and  still.  Try  as  hard  as  I  could,  I  couldn't  think  of  any 
existence  without  my  husband. 
11 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

DECIDED  to  go  to  Harlem,  pack  my  trunk, 
and  have  it  carried  down  to  the  station  for 
Brackettsville,  where  the  boys  were  board- 
ing, going  in  and  out  to  New  York  to  their 
work.  I  had  been  a  mender,  a  seamstress,  a 
tailor — and  I  had  failed.  As  for  being  a  wife — well,  he 
hadn't  wanted  that! — I  hadn't  been  that,  oh  no,  no,  no! 

I  went  up-stairs  without  seeing  any  one,  and  opened  my 
door.  The  room  was  full  of  smoke,  and  sitting  in  the  win- 
dow was  my  husband !  I  hadn't  crossed  the  threshold  before 
he  jumped  up,  locked  the  door,  and  stood  against  it,  My 
first  thought  was,  "He  is  going  to  kill  me — they  often  do." 
Then  I  called  myself  a  fool  and  looked  at  him,  and  saw  that 
he  had  no  pistol  in  his  hand.  He  had  on  his  best  clothes, 
his  hair  was  closely  cut,  and  he  had  shaved  his  beard.  He 
was  to  me  a  strange  stranger,  but  somehow  a  new  old 
stranger,  and  then  I  said  to  myself  that  /  was  "going 
crazy!" 

"Esther,  sit  down  in  that  chair — sit  down,  my  dear  girl." 
I  did  so  to  save  time.    He  came  over,  and  kneeled  down 
and  unbuttoned  my  boots  and  took  them  off.     I  couldn't 
stop  him.     He  put  my  slippers  on  my  feet,  and  I  couldn't 
stop  him.    He  took  out  my  hat-pins,  and  took  my  hat  off 
gently  and  laid  it  on  the  bed.     He  was  terribly  excited,  al- 
though quiet  and  wonderfully  gentle. 
148 


A   SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"  Listen  to  me,  Esther — listen  !  Of  course,  I  took  the  first 
train,  and  I  ran  like  a  lion  to  guard  his  lair!  I  was  sure 
you'd  come  home  some  time  or  other,  and  I  should  have  sat 
in  that  window,  if  necessary,  until  my  beard  had  grown  to 
the  floor!  The  reason  I  let  you  go  last  night  was  because 
I  was  coming  here  to  meet  you,  and  I  could  bear  it!"  He 
touched  his  face  where  he  had  shaved  his  beard. 

"How  do  you  like  it,  Esther?" 

Oh,  I  couldn't  answer  him!  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
my  balance,  but  he  asked  me  this  question  over  so  many 
times  that  I  answered,  without  thinking: 

"Why,  I'll  have  to  get  used  to  it." 

And  he  exclaimed,  delighted:  "You  shall  get  used  to  it! 
You  shall!  Look  at  me,"  he  ordered  like  a  master,  and 
made  me  meet  his  eyes;  his  own  were  clear  like  brown  pools, 
and  there  were  tears  back  of  the  shine.  I  hoped  he  wasn't 
going  to  cry — I  couldn't  have  stood  it. 

"In  Albany  you  said  that  you  came  to  tell  me  that  you 
were  not  the  kind  of  a  woman  for  me,  and  I  ran  to  New  York 
to  tell  you  that  you  are  the  one  kind  of  woman  I  want,  even  if 
you  haven't  been  able  to  find  the  man  in  me!  Any  other 
woman  in  the  world  but  you  would  have  put  me  in  a  strait- 
jacket  a  year  ago.  Your  courage,  your  divine  patience,  have 
not  been  in  vain." 

But  I  hadn't  been  through  what  I  had  been  or  up  to 
Albany  to  say  what  I  had  for  nothing,  and,  watching  my  face 
and  not  finding  what  he  wanted  there,  he  said,  more  excitedly: 

"It  isn't  my  nature  to  make  a  lot  of  threats  about  what  I 
shall  do  if  you  leave  me.  I  understand  your  character  too 
well  to  imagine  that  if  you  do  leave  me  you  will  care  what 
I  do  or  where  I  go.  I  don't  put  a  pistol  to  my  head.  It's 
not  my  way." 

149 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  leaned  over  to  me  and  said,  very  low:  "I'm  just  going 
to  say  one  word  "... 

With  all  my  might  I  longed  to  tell  him  not  to  go  on;  that 
I  was  determined — determined  to  leave  him  and  lead  my 
own  life;  but  it  was  growing  harder  every  single  second,  and 
the  longer  he  looked  at  me  out  of  his  changed  eyes  the  more 
impossible  it  was  for  me  to  speak. 

"...  Wait!"  he  whispered,  down  deep,  as  if  it  came  from 
his  heart.  "  Waitl  You've  done  a  great  deal  for  me — it's 
my  turn.  I  promise  nothing — I  assure  nothing — but  I  want 
to  see  what  I  can  do — for  you — Wait!"  He  looked  as  if 
he  expected  to  show  me  a  victory.  "You  don't  understand 
what  all  this  means,  my  dear  girl — you  don't,  of  course, 
understand." 

He  grew  very  pale,  and  put  his  hand  up  to  his  hair  and  bit 
his  lips  a  little,  and  then  said,  slowly: 

"It  will  be  a  hard,  hard  fight." 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  don't  understand  how  any  living  man 
can  be  so  sure  of  himself." 

And  he  answered  me:   "Because  I  am  sure  of  my  wife." 

I  didn't  answer.  For  a  while  I  looked  out  of  our  window 
over  toward  the  river.  There  were  two  black  yachts  going 
down  toward  the  bay.  I  watched  them  going  around  the 
curve  of  the  hill.  I  heard  my  husband's  voice: 

"Can't  I  touch  you,  Esther?  Won't  you  call  up  all  the 
imagination  you  have  and  understand  the  importance  of  this 
moment  ?" 

And  I  recollected  that  he  called  me  cruel  once,  and  said 
that  I  was  cruel  to  everybody  but  to  him,  so  I  was  just  real 
mean  and  said:  "You  have  told  me  lots  of  times  that  I  have 
no  imagination — nothing  but  common  sense." 

He  exclaimed,  eagerly:  "There's  no  place  for  common 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

sense  here  now;  it  has  its  value,  but  common  sense  would 
make  you  deaf  and  dumb  to  me,  and  I'm  afraid  of  it.  All  I 
ask  you  to  do  is  to  imagine  the  enormity  and  the  importance 
of  the  moment." 

Oh,  of  course  I  understood  what  he  meant,  and  that  to 
reach  this  point  meant  a  new  life  for  him!  And  I  tried  to 
say:  "For  me  a  new  life  as  well." 

After  a  second  he  whispered :  "  Just  where  are  you  in  your 
well-ordered,  well-regulated  mind,  my  dear  girl  ?" 

I  didn't  know  he  had  such  a  voice  as  the  one  he  spoke  to 
me  in.  I  was  surprised  to  see  him  kneel  down  by  my  side. 
I  was  embarrassed;  he  was  so  changed  by  his  shaven  face 
and  his  close-cut  hair,  it  was  like  a  strange  man.  The  wave 
that  had  touched  him  in  Albany  seemed  to  have  gone  all 
over  him  and  washed  him  clean.  But  I  held  back  from 
him,  I  didn't  want  him  to  touch  me  then.  I  was  too  full  'way 
down  deep  of  something  else  that  I  should  have  to  bury, 
cover  over,  forget;  and  he  showed  his  good  sense — he  didn't 
touch  me;  he  had  such  perfect  taste  and  feeling  about  every- 
thing when  he  was  himself.  I  knew  then  that  I  was  seeing 
him  as  other  women  had  seen  him,  who  had  been  carried 
away  by  him  and  charmed  by  him,  and  it  gave  me  a  new 
idea  of  my  husband.  It  was  a  little  bit  the  way  I  felt  that 
day  down  in  Nassau  Street,  when  I  carried  him  his  umbrella 
and  he  took  hold  of  my  arm  and  looked  at  me.  But  I 
thought  to  myself:  "If  he  kisses  me  or  says  anything  sen- 
timental, I  can't  bear  it!"  But  he  just  knelt  there  quietly, 
and  leaned  his  head  against  the  arm  of  my  chair. 

The  noon  whistles  blew  all  over  the  river  and  from  the 
factories,  and  I  saw  my  bag  over  there  on  the  bed,  and  knew 
I  should  unpack  it  and  begin  again.  Then  my  husband  got 
up  and  said  to  me: 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"Before  you  came  in  I  paid  up  Mrs.  Rowland's  bill.  I 
told  her  we  were  going  away  this  afternoon.  She  took  me 
for  a  new  lodger  when  I  came  in  without  my  beard.  We  are 
going  down  to  Washington.  I  have  telegraphed  for  rooms 
at  the  Shelburne  Hotel.  Mr.  Roxburg  is  down  there,  and  I 
join  him  to-morrow." 

I  didn't  say  anything  one  way  or  another,  but  I  got  up  and 
began  to  get  ready  to  go  down  to  lunch. 

"How  long  will  it  take  you  to  pack  up,  Esther  ?" 

And  I  recollected  how  he  had  put  the  same  question  to  me 
at  Paul  Smith's  after  the  other  tragedy,  but  I  was  hard  yet 
— hard,  and  couldn't  bring  myself  to  make  him  any  reply. 

"The  next  train  has  a  dining-car,"  he  went  on,  as  though 
he  didn't  expect  me  to  answer  him,  "and  if  you  could  throw 
the  things  in,  on  a  rush,  why,  I'd  send  for  a  cab  immediately. 
I  don't  believe  we  care  much  about  lunching  here,  Esther, 
do  we  ?" 

Then  I  understood  that  he  was  ashamed  to  meet  Mrs. 
Howland  and  the  others,  and  the  stone  broke  in  me  a  little, 
and  I  felt  sorry  for  him.  I  told  him  I  could  get  ready  all 
right,  and  that  he  had  better  go  and  send  for  the  cab  right 
away. 

What  could  I  do?  .  , 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

IHINGS  that  flow  along  smoothly  aren't  so 
easy  to  recall  as  hard  parts.  In  Washington 
we  had  rooms  in  a  house  in  M  Street.  I 
didn't  know  a  single  soul,  and  hadn't  anything 
to  do,  so  I  had  time  to  remember  Miss 
Pagee's  nails,  and  I  got  a  set  of  manicure  things  and  did 
mine. 

The  first  Sunday  after  we  got  to  Washington  my  husband 
and  I  went  to  St.  James's  Church,  as  he  said  it  was  the  thing 
to  do.  We  sat  up-stairs.  It  was  a  dark  little  church,  with 
pretty  windows  and  a  beautiful  organ  playing.  Senator 
Roxburg  sat  in  a  pew  near  the  President.  My  husband 
pointed  him  out  to  me. 

"Just  across  the  aisle  from  Mr.  Roxburg,"  my  husband 
said,  "sits  his  arch  enemy.  Can  you  see  him,  Esther?" 

It  was  Senator  Bellars.  They  were  intoning  the  Creed.  I 
always  liked  the  Episcopal  Creed  and  the  service.  We  were 
married  by  it  in  Trinity,  and  my  people  had  always  been 
Episcopalians. 

Senator  Roxburg  and  Senator  Bellars  represented  the  two 
big  factions  in  the  Senate,  and  though  they  said  the  same 
things  in  church,  they  said  very  different  ones  outside, 
though  they  were  both  in  the  same  party. 

The  church  was  packed  full,  and  we  sat  in  the  far  back 
and  looked  down  on  it  all. 

153 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

They  sang  The  Church's  One  Foundation,  and  it  gave 
me  a  shaky  feeling;  I  wished  I  could  sing.  I  was  surprised 
to  hear  Mr.  Kirkland  sing,  holding  the  book  up  and  singing 
right  out  as  though  he  were  a  convert  at  a  revival  meeting. 
People  near  us  turned  and  looked  at  him.  He  didn't  seem  to 
take  any  interest  in  the  sermon.  He  didn't  sing  the  last  hymn, 
and  I  was  relieved,  because  his  voice  was  so  loud  in  carrying. 

On  the  way  home  my  husband  talked  to  me  about  his  ad- 
miration for  Senator  Roxburg. 

"It's  the  turn  of  the  wheel,  my  dear  girl;  we  were  in  the 
last  row  of  the  gallery  to-day.  Wait  ten  years.  Roxburg 
can't  get  along  without  me — I  won't  let  him.  There's  a 
talent  in  seizing  opportunities,  and  I  have  gripped  this  one. 
Roxburg,"  my  husband  continued,  "started  in  a  grocer's 
store,  and  to-day  he  sways  the  Senate  every  time  he  speaks. 
I've  run  up  constantly  against  my  uncle,  and  he  is  as  cold  to 
me  as  death;  but  I  have  no  favors  to  ask  of  him." 

During  that  winter  Mr.  Kirkland  brought  me  an  invita- 
tion to  the  Roxburgs'  for  dinner.  My  husband  lunched 
there  every  day  himself,  and  several  times  he  had  stayed  for 
dinner.  As  soon  as  I  had  read  the  invitation,  he  said  to  me: 

"What  shall  you  say  r" 

I  looked  up  quickly  at  him.  He  was  lighting  a  cigarette, 
and  I  thought  his  face  was  embarrassed.  We'd  been  six 
months  in  Washington,  and  he  hadn't  touched  a  drop  of  any- 
thing but  tea  and  coffee  and  ginger-ale.  He  was  perfectly 
absorbed  in  his  work,  and  toiled  like  a  slave  for  Senator 
Roxburg.  Nothing  was  too  good  or  too  great  for  my  hus- 
band to  do  for  his  chief.  Senator  Roxburg  all  through  this 
period  was  growing  more  and  more  prominent,  his  speeches 
were  making  him  famous,  and  were  the  talk  of  Washington, 
and  when  Mr.  Kirkland  dined  there  he  used  to  come  home 
154 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

and  tell  me  all  about  the  dinners;  they  must  have  been  very 
brilliant  and  interesting,  for  he  brought  back  a  good  deal  of 
the  sparkle  to  me. 

So  when  he  asked  me,  "What  shall  you  say  ?"  I  answered, 
"Why,  how  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  should  rather  have  put  it,  I  suppose,  what  shall  you 
wear,  Esther  ?" 

I  hadn't  a  thing  but  ordinary  clothes  (shirtwaists  and 
skirts  and  a  nice  blue  serge  for  church),  and  he  knew  it.  I 
had  never  had  a  real  evening-dress  in  my  life.  I  saw  right 
then  and  there  that  he  didn't  want  me  to  go.  It  didn't  hurt 
me  in  the  way  I  think  it  would  have  hurt  most  women.  We 
were  standing  in  front  of  the  glass.  My  husband  had  an 
elegant  figure,  even  though  he  was  thin  and  bowed  a  little, 
and  now  he  was  himself  all  the  time.  I  don't  believe  in 
Washington  there  was  a  more  distinguished-looking  man  of 
his  age.  He  looked  more  like  a  titled  man  than  anything 
else,  and  he  had  so  much  manner. 

"I'll  have  to  accept  the  invitation,  I  suppose,"  I  said. 
"The  last  day  I  can  have  a  bad  headache.  It  is  always 
easy." 

I  never  saw  such  a  look  of  relief  as  came  over  his  face.  I 
came  near  crying.  It  struck  me  so  suddenly  that  there  was 
a  big  difference  between  us. 

My  husband  made  me  write  the  letter  then  and  there.  He 
had  the  note  taken  round  by  a  messenger.  The  dinner  was 
two  weeks  off. 

From  then  on  I  read  every  society  thing  there  was  in  the 
papers,  and  saw  Mrs.  Roxburg's  name  everywhere.  My 
husband  hadn't  made  any  reference  to  her  especially. 

The  boarding-house  keeper  knew  everybody  in  Washing- 
ton by  name  and  by  sight.  One  beautiful  Sunday  afternoon 


A   SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Mrs.  Margrette  (her  family  had  been  French)  and  I  went  to 
St.  James's  to  vespers.  We  sat  up  in  the  gallery  again,  but 
this  time  in  the  front  row.  There  were  just  a  few  people 
there,  and  the  choir-boys  all  came  in  singing  The  Church's 
One  Foundation. 

After  the  first  prayer  two  people  passed  into  the  Rox- 
burgs'  seat — a  tall,  beautifully  dressed  woman  with  a  sable 
around  her  neck  and  a  great  big  muff;  my  husband  was 
with  her.  He  held  her  prayer-book  for  her,  and  all  through 
the  service  he  was  devoted  to  her.  He  didn't  sing  The 
Church's  One  Foundation  this  time,  or  any  other  hymn,  out 
loud. 

Mrs.  Margrette  had  bad  eyesight,  and  she  was  as  mad  as 
a  hornet  to  think  she  hadn't  her  "far-seeing  glasses"  with 
her,  and  I  didn't  tell  her  who  I  saw  in  the  Roxburgs'  pew. 
I  held  back,  and  waited  until  everybody  had  gone  out  before 
we  came  down-stairs. 

All  the  way  home  I  wondered  how  I  was  ever  going  to  get 
along,  and  why  anybody  needed  to  be  so  firmly  fixed  in  an- 
other's life  that  every  turn  makes  them  suffer,  and  yet  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  any  right  way  out. 

My  husband  sent  word  to  the  house  he  wouldn't  be  home 
for  tea.  Mrs.  Margrette  had  her  grandchildren  with  her,  and 
we  had  codfish-balls  and  buckwheat-cakes  for  supper.  I 
couldn't  eat  a  single  thing.  That  night  I  was  reading 
some  of  the  Sunday  papers,  and  I  came  across  a  joke 
that  said: 

"Wives  of  great  men  oft  remind  us  they  should  leave  their 
wives  at  home." 

And  mad  as  I  was  and  hurt  as  I  was,  and  lonely,  I  laughed 

right  out,  and  I  said  to  myself:  "Well,  I  guess  that  man 

156 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  But  my  husband  isn't 
great  yet,  and  it  is  too  early  to  be  left  at  home." 

Anyhow,  the  dinner  wasn't  for  two  weeks,  and  I  had 
plenty  of  time  to  study  things  out;  but  I  couldn't  think  as  I 
was  in  the  habit  of  doing,  for  I  had  a  new  kind  of  feeling  about 
Mr.  Kirkland  and  Mrs.  Roxburg,  and  it  wasn't  a  bit  the  way 
I  had  felt  about  Miss  Pagee  or  my  sister.  Each  time  it  was 
different.  Everything  was  different  now  in  every  way.  My 
husband  was  a  new  man  in  some  respects,  and  I  was  growing 
very  different,  too.  Mr.  Kirkland  was  more  like  the  man  I 
first  saw  in  Senator  Bellars's  office  the  day  he  landed. 

One  day  I  went  for  a  walk,  and  stayed  down  and  ate 
luncheon  in  a  cheap  restaurant,  because  I  didn't  want  to 
go  back  and  sit  there  and  eat  biscuits  and  hash  witti  Mrs. 
Margrette,and  have  her  ask  me  questions.  Being  out  alone 
like  that  made  me  think  of  old  times,  when  I  was  a  busi- 
ness woman  and  could  do  as  I  chose. 

In  front  of  the  Library  I  came  face  to  face  with  Senator 
Bellars.  I  never  thought  of  speaking  to  him,  but  he  laughed 
harshly  and  held  out  his  hand,  and  asked  me  how  I  was 
and  where  I  was.  I  could  hardly  speak.  It  was  so  sudden 
and  so  strange.  He  looked  handsome  and  distinguished, 
and  I  was  sorry  we  were  on  the  other  side  of  many  things. 
He  stared  at  me  hard,  and  then  said: 

"I  needn't  ask  how  you  are  doing!  You  look  very  well. 
But  your  husband  is  making  the  usual  fool  of  himself. 
Don't  bristle;  I  won't  run  down  your  demi-god!  It  is  none 
of  my  affairs,  and  I  know  from  experience  that  I  might  as 
well  talk  into  a  phonograph  as  to  talk  to  you.  I  only  get  my 
own  words  back  again." 

I  was  surprised  when  he  asked  me  where  I  was  going,  and 
more  so  when  he  walked  all  the  way  home  with  me,  talking 
157 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

in  an  interesting  manner;  and  if  I  hadn't  been  in  my  old  suit 
I  would  have  been  proud  to  walk  alongside  of  one  of  the 
most  prominent  Washington  men. 

"What  on  earth,"  he  asked  me,  "ever  possessed  that 
jumping-jack  of  a  nephew  of  mine  to  go  to  Roxburg  ?" 

And  when  I  answered  that  my  husband  admired  Senator 
Roxburg  immensely,  Mr.  Bellars  fairly  snorted: 

"Roxburg  is  like  a  bit  of  tinfoil — you  can  crumple  him 
into  any  shape  you  like.  But  his  wife!  Well,  there,  if  you 
like,  is  a  man,  and  she  has  her  ambitions!  You  wouldn't 
think,  would  you,  to  see  her,  that  she  had  been  born  in  a 
mining-camp  ?" 

When  we  got  to  the  door  of  my  boarding  -  house  he 
looked  at  me  very  kindly  and  stood  there  with  me,  lin- 
gering. 

"Some  years  ago  I  gave  you  some  advice  which  you  didn't 
take — well  and  good.  I  have  been  observing  your  husband's 
chief  for  some  time,  ever  since  he  made  that  clever  speech 
in  the  Republican  Club  in  New  York" — his  eyes  twinkled 
under  his  hanging  eyebrows.  "I  wondered  then  who  made 
that  speech  for  Roxburg;  it  was  beyond  the  intellect  of  his 
clever  wife.  Now  I  know.  I've  a  lot  of  family  pride  which 
I  have  had  the  bad  luck  to  see  dragged  in  the  gutter  more 
than  once  by  my  kin.  But  when  there  is  a  chance  for  my 
pride  to  be  touched  it's  as  sensitive  as  ever,  I  find!" 

We  were  standing  in  front  of  Mrs.  Margrette's  window, 
and  I  knew  she  was  peeping  through  the  crack  between  the 
shade  and  the  pane.  Senator  Bellars  tapped  me  on  the  arm. 
"  I  don't  like  to  see  the  Kirkland  intellect  feeding  a  hog — it 
goes  against  the  grain.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  basil-plants. 
I  expect  you  know  they  are  a  kind  of  flower  that  grows  on 
dead  men's  brains  ?  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  don't  ask 
158 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

any  brains  but  my  own.  They  may  be  poor,  but  they  are 
at  least  original." 

I  couldn't  say  a  single  word,  because  I  thought  he  was 
perfectly  fine,  and  I  believed  everything  he  said.  It  seemed 
like  a  great  light  that  all  of  a  sudden  showed  me  the  way. 

Senator  Bellars  was  staring  right  up  at  Mrs.  Margrette's 
windows  as  he  talked  to  me. 

"Washington  is  all  very  well  for  some  fellows  to  jump 
from — the  most  of  them  jump  from  here  into  oblivion. 
Now,  for  a  man  with  brains  and  talent  and  ambition,  Wash- 
ington should  be  jumped  into  from  another  twig — I  wonder 
if  you  understand  me  ?  It's  family  pride  with  me,"  he  went 
on,  "and  it's  maddening  to  think  that  the  brains  of  my  fam- 
ily are  feeding  the  greed  and  avarice  of  an  opponent.  And 
what,  in  God's  name,  will  Stephen  get  out  of  all  this  ?  Ner- 
vous prostration  from  overwork,  possibly  —  when  he  has 
used  up  his  talent  or  become  a  little  too  conspicuous  he  will 
get  kicked  out." 

His  eyes  seemed  to  imprison  me  as  he  stood  there,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  bent,  looking  at  me  from  un- 
der his  shaggy  eyebrows.  In  another  tone  he  asked  more 
kindly:  "What  are  you  doing  here  ?  How  do  you  pass  your 
time  ?" 

I  couldn't  have  told  him  how  I  passed  it,  for  I  didn't 
pass  it,  I  just  shoved  it  along  to  get  rid  of  it. 

"Come  to  my  house  and  take  some  dictation  from  me," 
he  suggested.  "I  don't  happen  to  be  so  fortunate  as  to 
possess  a  private  secretary  on  whose  brains  I  feed.  Come 
to-morrow."  He  took  out  his  card  and  wrote  his  address 
on  it.  I  shook  my  head  and  said  I  couldn't  come  possibly. 

He  didn't  seem  at  all  hurt  by  my  refusal. 

"Don't  tell  Stephen  that  we  have  met,  please,"  he  asked. 
159 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"I  have  spoken  to  you  because  you  are  a  woman,  and  I  like 
them  all  on  principle.  As  for  Stephen,  he's  the  biggest  fool 
with  a  mind  that  God  ever  made,  and  an  angel  couldn't  save 
him  from  his  follies." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Margrette  had  pulled  the  shade  right 
up.  I  could  tell  it,  though  I  was  only  turned  sideways  to  it. 
She  had  gotten  out  her  far-seeing  glasses,  and  she  was  just 
staring. 

Senator  Bellars  gave  me  his  hand,  and  held  mine  warmly, 
and  smiled  right  into  my  eyes. 

"I  believe  no  woman  objects  to  being  told  that  she  is 
handsome.  I  hope  Stephen  tells  you  so  often.  You  were 
always  lovely,  but  you  have  improved  vastly." 

I  saw  him  look  at  my  clothes,  and  I  knew  what  he  thought 
about  them,  and  I  blushed  dreadfully. 

"I  don't  care  a  continental,"  he  said,  more  coolly,  "what 
Stephen  Kirkland's  wife  looks  like;  that  young  man  has 
finished  himself  for  me.  But  I  do  care  what  my  nephew's 
wife  looks  like.  Go  to  a  good  dressmaker,  my  dear,  get 
yourself  a  handsome  gown,  and  send  the  bill  to  me." 

I  bade  him  good-bye,  and  when  Mrs.  Margrette  let  rne  in 
I  didn't  have  time  to  ring — she  was  at  the  door. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Kirkland,  I  never  did!  That  was  Senator 
Bellars,  wasn't  it  ?  There  aren't  two  men  like  him  in 
Washington!  Dear  me,  do  you  know  him  so  well?" 

Up-stairs  in  my  room  I  was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  I 
locked  my  door,  and  my  face  burned.  I  felt  ashamed  and 
pleased — ashamed  and  pleased — and  comforted — and  mad 
— and  over  all  I  was  just  plain  pleased. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

]RS.  MARGRETTE  told  me  a  great  deal 
about  her  French  relations,  so  much  so  that 
once  I  asked  if  she  talked  French.  I  thought 
I  would  like  to  go  on  from  where  I  had  left 
off  in  New  York,  but  she  only  knew  "Que 
voulez  vous"  and  one  or  two  other  things,  and  I  knew  those 
myself,  and  more. 

My  husband  wanted  me  to  look  carefully  over  all  his 
clothes.  He  had  bought  a  handsome  new  dress-suit  and 
shirt  and  collar  buttons  and  studs  in  New  York.  He  got 
half  a  dozen  handkerchiefs,  too,  very  fine,  with  his  mono- 
gram. I  had  never  seen  any  so  expensive. 

One  afternoon  I  went  up-stairs  and  found  him  standing 
in  the  window  looking  out,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  I 
knew  by  his  back  that  something  had  gone  wrong. 

"Esther,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Roxburgs' 
dinner  to-morrow."  And  he  turned  around  square  and 
looked  at  me  half  angrily;  he  was  very  much  cut  up. 

I  sat  down  on  the  bed,  and  before  I  could  think  twice 
he  went  on:   "It's  nonsense  for  you  to  refuse  —  Roxburg 
will  think  I'm  ashamed  of  you.    I've  got  a  wife,  haven't  I  ? 
And  that's  all  there  is  about  it!" 
I  was  perfectly  struck  dumb. 

"What  will  you  wear,  Esther?"     And  then  he  answered 
himself:   "Get  up  something  or  other.     I  don't  care  what. 
161 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

It's  a  matter  of  no  importance  what  a  secretary's  wife  wears. 
I'd  chuck  the  whole  thing  here  if  it  wouldn't  show  my 
hand.  But  dress  as  you  will;  I  want  you  to  dine  in  any 
case." 

"I'll  have  to  buy  a  dress,  I  guess.    I  haven't  anything  but 
my  blue  serge." 

"Buy  anything  you  choose — spend  what  you  like." 
I  was  determined  that  he  shouldn't  be  any  more 
ashamed  of  me  than  I  could  help.  I  asked  Mrs.  Margrette 
to  go  with  me.  She  said  her  grandmother  had  been  a  dress- 
maker "under  the  Empire"  and  that  she  had  always  been 
told  that  she  inherited  "the  French  taste."  I  was  very  glad 
afterward  that  she  had  gone  with  me,  for  there  were  so  many 
things  to  choose  from.  Mrs.  Margrette  took  me  to  the 
swellest  dressmakers  in  Washington,  and  they  happened  to 
have  several  ready-made  evening-dresses  that  seemed  too 
stylish  and  too  queer  for  me,  and  I  was  scared  to  death  at 
the  very  sight  of  every  one  of  them!  Mrs.  Margrette  ap- 
peared to  be  at  home  in  the  place,  and  said  to  the  woman 
who  was  half-heartedly  showing  us  things  with  her  nose  up 
in  the  air,  and  dragging  the  dresses  around  as  if  they  were 
rags,  looking  out  of  the  window  indifferently  most  of  the 
time: 

"Have  you  anything  from  fForth,  madam  ?" 

The  woman   stared   at   her  and   repeated:    "'Worth'? 

Why,  yes,  we  have  one  model  gown,"  and  she  brightened  up 

a  little  and  brought  it  out — a  black  dress  embroidered  with 

gold,  simple  and  perfectly  beautiful.     The  fitter  thought  it 

would  just  fit  me,  as  I  was  "the  model  size."     That  was 

news  to  me!    They  made  me  go  into  the  little  room,  and  I 

tried  the  dress  on,  and  Mrs.  Margrette  said:    "Well,  if  it 

doesn't  fit  you  to  a  T,  Mrs.  Kirkland!     I  never  knew  what 

162 


A  SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

a  handsome  woman  you  were  before;  clothes  do  show  off, 
and  no  mistake!" 

It  was  cut  too  low,  and  I  told  them  so,  but  nobody  would 
hear  to  a  word  against  the  dress,  and  Mrs.  Margrette  ap- 
peared perfectly  carried  away,  and  told  me  very  sharply 
"she  guessed  Worth  knew  his  business!" 

They  wanted  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  it,  but 
Mrs.  Margrette  got  them  to  come  down;  as  there  wasn't  a 
single  thing  to  do  but  to  freshen  up  the  tulle,  I  took  it,  and 
didn't  have  it  charged  to  Senator  Bellars,  either! 

The  Roxburgs'  house  was  perfectly  superb,  but  I  didn't 
take  in  anything  then — I  was  too  excited.  When  the 
cab  stopped  at  the  awning  I  got  out  and  crawled  along  the 
red  carpet  and  up  the  steps  like  a  fly  on  the  ceiling;  my  dress 
was  heavy  and  I  was  as  cold  as  ice  in  it.  Inside  the  house 
my  feet  sank  down  in  the  thick  carpets,  and  the  air  was 
heavy  with  perfume  and  flowers.  Several  ladies  went  up 
the  steps  with  me,  and  the  rustle  of  their  dresses  and  the 
heavy  perfumes  played  over  my  nerves.  When  a  butler 
took  the  old  coat  I  wore  (I  hadn't  dreamed  of  an  evening- 
wrap)  and  my  head  veil,  I  felt  as  naked  as  a  new-born  child, 
and  not  much  more  able  to  speak.  My  dress  was  so  long  I 
almost  fell  in  it,  and  my  shoes  and  gloves  hurt,  but  I  knew 
that  my  gown  was  perfectly  beautiful,  long  and  silky  and 
shining  and  soft,  and  it  comforted  me. 

It  was  a  relief  to  me  to  see  that  Mrs.  Roxburg  was  even 
more  undressed  than  I  felt.  She  was  a  big  woman,  with 
a  proud,  rude  look,  and  her  eyes  and  her  jewels  seemed 
to  glitter  at  me.  When  I  shook  hands  with  her  I  had 
to  tell  her  twice  who  I  was.  Then  she  said:  "Really? 
Howdy  do — delighted!"  And  over  her  shoulder  to  my 
husband,  who  was  standing  there  with  several  men — 
12  l63 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

he'd  been  kept  so  long  he  had  to  dress  there — she  an- 
nounced : 

"  Your  wife,  Mr.  Kirkland." 

He  looked  pleased,  but  he  was  evidently  angry  at  some- 
thing or  other.  In  seeing  him  my  first  feeling  used  to  be,  I 
wonder  if  he's  himself!  But  I  knew  I  didn't  need  to  wonder 
that  any  more;  it  would  have  been  more  reasonable  if  I  had 
thought,  "I  wonder  what  he  has  changed  to  now?" 

He  had  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  and  Mrs.  Roxburg  was 
wearing  the  same  kind.  My  husband  stared  at  me  as 
though  I  were  a  perfect  stranger;  indeed,  I  must  have 
looked  like  a  perfect  stranger  to  him — I  never  saw  a  man 
more  surprised.  Then  he  burst  out  laughing  very  softly, 
and  bent  down  and  said  to  me  so  low  that  no  one  else  heard : 

"  By  Jove,  Cinderella,  who  is  your  fairy  godmother  ?" 

"It's  a  real  Worth  gown,"  I  told  him.     "Is  it  all  right  ?" 

He  smiled  broadly  and  seemed  pleased  with  me,  and  I 
could  see  that  he  thought  I  was  joking  when  I  said  "Worth." 

Mrs.  Roxburg  came  up  and  brought  a  gentleman  to  take 
me  in  to  dinner.  There  were  forty  people  at  the  table,  and 
I  could  watch  and  think  of  Senator  Bellars's  remark  about 
the  "feeding  of  the  hog." 

Mrs.  Roxburg  went  in  with  a  dark,  foreign-looking  man — 
the  Prince  Ribisco — and  she  hung  on  his  arm,  laughing  up  at 
him,  her  jewels  flashing.  My  husband  was  near  her,  a  good 
way  down  the  table.  Mrs.  Roxburg  flirted  dreadfully  with 
the  foreigner,  and  Senator  Roxburg  paid  no  attention  to  it 
whatever.  He  was  talking  with  the  lady  on  his  left,  and  my 
husband  was  the  only  person  the  flirtation  seemed  to  annoy. 
The  gentlemen  on  either  side  of  me  talked,  and  it  wasn't 
hard  to  answer,  for  they  were  interesting,  and  managed  so 
that  the  first  thing  7  knew  they  both  talked  together  across 
164 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

me  about  the  questions  at  issue.  By-and-by  I  heard  Mr. 
Kirkland  answer  down  the  table  something  Senator  Rox- 
burg  said,  and  this  set  my  husband  going,  and  for  quite  a 
while  he  talked,  and  the  whole  dinner-party  listened  to  him. 
Mrs.  Roxburg  stopped  flirting  with  the  Prince,  and  silenced 
him  when  he  tried  to  interrupt.  I  was  glad.  When  my 
husband  stopped  speaking  the  guest  on  my  right  said: 

"Senator  Roxburg  has  a  most  unusual  secretary.  You 
must  be  proud  of  your  husband,  Mrs.  Kirkland." 

The  gentlemen  stayed  in  the  dining-room  to  smoke,  but 
the  Prince  came  out  with  Mrs.  Roxburg,  and  they  whispered 
and  flirted  all  the  evening.  I  wouldn't  have  minded  sitting 
there  and  watching  if  my  shoes  hadn't  hurt,  and  my  dress 
hadn't  been  so  awfully  tight;  but  it  was  glistening  and 
pretty,  and  it  fell  softly,  and  I  liked  to  think  of  it  being 
mine,  and  to  look  down  at  it. 

In  the  carriage  my  husband  said  to  me: 

"You  were  the  best-dressed  woman  in  the  room.  Mrs. 
Roxburg  looked  a  mammoth  alongside  of  you.  I  am  much 
obliged,  Esther.  I  was  proud  of  you,  my  dear — " 

Of  course,  I  was  perfectly  delighted. 

— I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes  when  I  saw  you  enter  that 
room!  I  didn't  care  what  you  wore — if  you  had  come  in  a 
waterproof  it  would  have  been  all  one  to  me;  nevertheless, 
I  am  much  obliged.  I  didn't  know  Washington  could  turn 
out  such  a  creation  as  your  dress!" 

Then  I  told  him  again  it  was  Worth.  He  lit  a  cigarette 
and  threw  the  match  out  of  the  window  and  laughed. 

"Well,  upon  my  word!  And  I  told  Senator  Roxburg, 
who  admired  it  very  much,  that  my  wife  made  it  herself!" 

"Goodness  gracious!"  I  exclaimed.  "You  must  think  I 
can  work  miracles!" 

165 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

And  he  turned  on  me  very  solemnly  and  said,  "I  do  think 
so." 

When  we  got  to  our  rooms  he  asked  me,  "What  do  you 
think  of  Roxburg  ?" 

And  I  answered  that  the  Senator  seemed  to  depend  upon 
his  secretary  very  much  indeed. 

Mr.  Kirkland  didn't  notice  this,  and  after  a  little  while 
asked,  "What  do  you  think  of  his  wife  ?" 

"I  think  she  is  stylish  and  handsome." 

"She's  a  stupid  coquette,"  my  husband  exclaimed,  an- 
grily. "Roxburg  is  as  blind  as  a  bat." 

He  didn't  say  any  more  on  that  subject;  and  when  I  told 
him  there  wasn't  a  man  in  the  room  as  clever  as  he  was,  he 
listened.  I  went  on  to  say  how  splendid  his  speech  was  at 
the  table,  and  how  everybody  had  enjoyed  hearing  him  talk. 
He  was  washing  his  hands  at  the  basin  and  wiping  each 
finger  slowly.  He  said  to  me: 

"This  life  down  here  in  Washington  is  what  I  want,  but 
I  don't  want  it  in  this  way.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  out 
West  and  practise  law  in  some  small  town  and  make  my 
name  there."  He  looked  at  me  eagerly.  "What  do  you 
think  of  that,  Esther  ?" 

"I  think  it  is  a  splendid  idea." 

"So  do  I,  so  do  I,  my  dear  girl.     Westward  ho!" 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  stretched  his  arms,  and  exclaimed, 
"The  plains,  the  eternal  waste,  the  primeval  sweeps,  the 
new  soil,  the  simple  people,  and  the  miles  of  unploughed 
land!" 

He  came  over  to  me  and  sat  down  by  me  on  the  bed.  I 
had  not  begun  to  undress.  I  thought  I  would  wait  until  he 
finished  talking,  and  then  I  would  go  into  my  own  room. 

"Patient  Griselda,  how  much  longer  is  this  divine  pa- 
166 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

tience  going  to  last  ?"  And  he  interrupted  himself.  "  Don't 
answer  me — don't  set  a  limit."  He  took  my  hand  up  and 
looked  at  it  hard,  and  said,  softly:  "You  have  manicured 
your  nails,  too — upon  my  word!  I  remember  I  used  to 
watch  those  fingers  fly  over  the  typing-keys — do  you  ever 
miss  your  work,  Esther  ?" 

I  told  him  that  I  hadn't  had  much  time,  and  that  possibly 
I  could  work  some  out  West. 

He  exclaimed:  "Never — never — except  for  me!  When 
you  came  into  the  Roxburgs'  drawing-room  to-night  I 
couldn't  believe  my  eyes.  Of  course,  you  don't  know  how 
you  looked — you  are  so  utterly  unconscious  of  yourself. 
But  you  made  every  woman  in  the  room  tawdry  and  poor. 
I  don't  pretend  to  say  what  it  is,  my  dear  girl,  but  you've 
got  it!  Or,  rather,"  he  said,  more  softly  still,  "I've  got  it, 
and  it  belongs  to  me!" 

He  put  his  arms  around  me  then  and  said,  "Look  at  me, 
my  dear  girl,"  and  the  expression  I  had  seen  the  day  of  the 
"umbrella  "  down  in  Nassau  Street  was  on  his  face,  only  this 
time  it  remained  and  did  not  fade;  and  he  whispered,  "Call 
me  by  my  name." 

And  I  waited  until  I  had  opened  up  every  door  in  my  mind 
that  was  shut  against  him,  and  I  said,  "Stephen." 

And  he  kissed  me  as  he  had  never  done  before — never; 
and  I  thought  of  all  he  had  fought  for  and  fought  over,  and 
how  hard  things  had  been  for  him,  and  how  he  really  hadn't 
anything  or  anybody  to  stand  by  him  but  me — just  me,  to 
begin  with — to  go  West  with.  And  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  and 
something  broke  that  had  been  hard  against  him  always — 
and  I  put  my  arms  around  him,  and  he  laid  his  head  down 
on  my  breast. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

HE  end  of  that  week  we  were  on  the  cars 
going  north.  He  had  just  thrown  up  his 
position  with  Senator  Roxburg  like  a  flash. 
But  he  had  agreed  to  transact  some  impor- 
tant business  in  New  York,  and  so  we  went 
there  to  start  west. 

My  husband  drew  pictures  of  the  West,  of  the  "vast 
plains,"  and  said  that  he  had  always  wanted  to  go  West, 
and  that  now  he  was  "being  carried  on  by  the  chariots  of 
Fate." 

"Do  you  know,  Esther,  I  was  inspired  very  much  by  a 
speech  my  uncle  made  in  the  Senate  last  week  ?  He  was 
speaking  of  the  need  the  mass  felt  of  regeneration — of  the 
need  for  fresh  spirits  from  a  fresher  plane.  There  is  'in- 
toxication '  in  the  West — in  the  Occident,"  and  he  smiled  as 
he  used  that  word.  "I  don't  mean  to  frighten  you  with 
that  term — the  word  intoxication,  my  dear  girl — but  the 
wheat-fields  have  several  ways  of  stimulating  a  man — his 
brain,  his  mind,  and  his  body.  Don't  forget  that  they  give 
us  bread." 

Though  we  had  been  in  Washington  only  six  months,  it 
was  a  lifetime  for  us,  and  we  brought  away  a  new  career  for 
Stephen,  a  lot  of  experience  for  me,  and  a  Worth  gown  that 
cost  three  hundred  dollars.  I  could  give  that  to  Fanny — I 
didn't  believe  I  would  need  it  in  the  wheat-fields  Stephen 
168 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

was  dreaming  about.  At  Trenton,  my  husband  got  a  tele- 
gram from  Senator  Roxburg,  saying  the  man  he  was  to  see 
in  New  York  was  very  ill,  and  we  decided  we'd  go  right 
out  by  the  next  western  train. 

When  we  arrived  at  Jersey  City  it  was  five  o'clock.  All 
around  was  a  rush  of  people  for  the  suburban  trains.  We 
wandered  side  by  side  toward  the  gates  with  the  crowd;  we 
were  the  last  to  go  through,  and  at  our  side  was  the  big  flyer 
for  Chicago,  with  the  little  dining-tables  set  and  the  waiters 
in  their  white  coats.  A  gateman  called  out: 

"Buffalo!— Rochester!— Cleveland!  — all  points  West!" 
and  on  the  other  side  a  man  sang  out: 

"  Brackettsville  first  stop." 

It  was  the  express  the  office  people  took  out  home,  and  I 
knew  it  pretty  well — I  had  taken  it  night  after  night  for  ten 
years.  I  knew  the  conductors  and  the  gatemen  and  the 
candy  boys  and  the  newspaper  boys,  and  the  old  station 
with  the  restaurant  and  the  flies  and  the  fruit  and  the  smell 
of  everything,  and  the  ferry-boats  coming  in  "bump"  against 
the  piers. 

"Shall  I  go  and  see  about  the  baggage,"  I  asked  Stephen, 
"while  you  get  the  tickets  ?" 

He  was  standing  in  the  door  of  the  waiting-room,  smiling 
in  his  old,  dreamy  way. 

"Isn't  that  the  boys'  train,  Esther?" 

"I  guess  so;  they  usually  take  the  five-eight." 

"Buffalo!— Rochester!— Cleveland;  and  all  points  West! 
— forward  on  the  right." 

And  to  me  Stephen  said  out  in  a  voice  like  the  man's: 

"Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa  on  the  left — why  not  ?  What 
is  in  a  place,  after  all,  my  dear  girl  ?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  never  wanted  to  go  to  Europe  again !" 
169 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

For,  honestly,  I  wouldn't  have  been  surprised  if  he  had 
started  going  down  and  taking  a  ship  for  China.  Nothing 
surprised  me  in  those  days.  I  felt  keyed  up  all  the  time — 
we  were  making  our  way — we  were  making  our  way,  and 
now  I  can  look  back  and  see,  as  it  were,  sparks  fly  out  behind 
our  train. 

I  was  excited.     My  husband  said: 

"I  never  said  I  didn't  want  to  see  Brackettsville  again, 
did  I,  Esther  ?  Let's  go  out  home." 

He  put  his  hand  on  my  arm  and  turned  me  toward  the 
other  side  of  the  station,  where  the  lines  of  commuters  were 
walking  along  with  their  newspaper  bundles — an  ordinary, 
quiet  procession  of  which  I  had  been  part  for  years  of  my  life. 

"Come,"  Stephen  said,  "never  mind  the  baggage.  We 
can  give  our  checks  up  to  Moore  at  the  Brackettsville  station. 
He'll  send  for  them."  And  as  he  helped  me  up  the  steps 
of  the  old  train  he  laughed.  "Your  Worth  gown  isn't  in 
any  hurry  to  get  to  Brackettsville,  is  it  ?  We  are!" 

He  bought  a  lot  of  papers  from  the  boy  and  some  marsh- 
mallows  for  me.  He  was  as  gay  as  a  child,  and  took  off  his 
hat  to  some  people  who  were  coming  back  from  a  matinee 
in  New  York. 

"  Keep  a  watch  out  of  your  window  for  the  boys,  Esther," 
he  said.  "They  will  be  utterly  surprised  to  see  us,  won't 
they  ?" 

I  was  beyond  speech.  Here  we  were  making  back  to 
Brackettsville,  which  I  had  left  in  a  kind  of  family  disgrace 
when  I  was  married.  No  West — no  fields  at  all — just  the 
old  place.  The  itinerary  of  the  tour  was  changed,  sure 
enough,  but  somehow  or  other  the  fire  in  me  hadn't 
all  died  down  yet.  Stephen  took  hold  of  my  hand  and 
said: 

170 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"One  twig  is  as  good  as  another  to  start  from  if  you  are 
going  to  fly,  and,  anyway,  I  want  to  see  the  old  place." 

I  remembered  what  his  uncle  had  said  about  starting,  and 
I  was  glad,  anyway,  that  I  wasn't  taking  back  to  Bracketts- 
ville  the  same  man  I  had  taken  away. 

The  boys  came  along  about  then.  They  had  grown  aw- 
fully. Pete  was  nearly  six  feet  tall.  I  couldn't  believe  my 
eyes. 

We  took  a  little  scrap  of  a  house,  with  a  garden,  by  the 
year.  The  boys  and  Fanny  came  and  boarded  with  us, 
and  Stephen  said  we  were  "founding  a  family."  Right 
away  he  went  to  New  York  and  took  a  small,  insignificant 
position  in  a  lawyer's  firm.  I  never  had  known  that  he  had 
been  through  the  Harvard  Law  School  and  admitted  to  the 
bar  before  he  went  abroad. 

Of  course,  he  was  as  good  at  that  as  at  everything  else.  A 
real  genius.  I  knew  that  office  would  be  too  narrow  for  him, 
and  that  after  a  while  he  would  shake  it  ofF  like  a  shell. 
Even  in  the  first  year  the  Brackettsville  people  began  to  talk 
about  him  and  of  how  first-rate  he  was  at  the  law,  and  now 
that  he  didn't  drink  a  drop  he  could  work  harder  and  longer 
than  any  man  I  ever  saw.  That  spring  I  used  to  wish  that 
we  had  a  child.  It  seemed  as  though  things  were  settling 
down,  and  I  would  have  loved  it.  But  it  wasn't  to  be. 

Fanny  came  back  from  Europe  prettier  than  ever,  very 
stylish,  with  lots  of  airs  and  ideas,  and  her  old  employer  made 
her  his  private  secretary  at  a  salary  of  a  hundred  dollars  a 
month;  and  the  boys  were  doing  very  well  indeed. 

I  saw  right  away  that  things  were  going  to  be  as  they  were 
before  between  Stephen  and  Fanny;  only  I  was  wrong — 
they  were  far  worse. 

Stephen  brought  me  up  some  typewriting  to  do  for  him. 
171 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

This  kept  me  very  busy.  He  began  to  get  enthusiastic  about 
his  cases,  and  he  said  that  "the  law  was  a  lamp  that  lit  up 
the  universe  for  a  man  of  his  temperament." 

He  was  in  the  office  of  Judge  Rollins,  the  referee,  and  he 
made  about  five  thousand  a  year  then.  * 

I  saw,  before  long,  that  the  older  of  our  boys — Pete — was 
worrying  about  something.  He  was  a  real  Carey,  and  I 
knew  how  they  were  and  that  he  would  never  tell.  Pete 
was  very  reserved  and  not  very  strong,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do.  One  night  I  came  in  late  from  a  church  social 
and  saw  his  window  open  and  that  he  was  sitting  up  in  it. 
All  the  others  were  in  bed.  I  went  into  Pete's  room  and 
got  him  to  tell  me.  He  had  been  playing  cards,  and  drink- 
ing a  little,  too,  I  guess.  I  told  him  not  to  bother  about  the 
money — that  didn't  matter — and  we  would  talk  it  over  to- 
gether some  other  time,  and  he  seemed  made  over  new  when 
he  had  that  weight  lifted  off  his  mind.  Then  I  thought  out 
my  plan  alone.  I  went  down  to  New  York  to  see  a  man  I 
used  to  work  for  when  I  had  my  own  office,  and  when  I  came 
out  to  Brackettsville  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Pete,  and  told 
him  some  of  my  experiences.  That  same  week  he  gave  up 
his  position  in  New  York,  and  I  took  him  down  to  the  wharf 
and  saw  him  off  on  the  St.  Mary's  for  a  long,  long  cruise; 
and  when  he  bade  me  good-bye  he  said : 

"Sis,  you  have  struck  it  just  right.  This  is  my  vocation, 
and  you  have  taken  me  just  in  time." 

It  was  a  comfort  to  me  to  know  that  Pete  was  satisfied. 
I  never  said  a  word  about  it  to  my  husband,  but  Fanny  and 
I  had  seen  Pete  off  together. 

When  Stephen  came  home  with  a  big  box  of  fire-crackers 
on  the  Fourth  of  July,  to  set  them  off  in  our  front  yard  with 
the  boys,  he  asked,  "Where's  Pete  ?" 
172 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  hadn't  missed  him  before,  and  when  I  told  him  he 
stared  at  me. 

"You  got  your  brother  on  a  war-ship  without  any  training 
or  education  ?"  he  said  to  me;  and  then  I  told  him  that  Pete 
was  nothing  but  a  stenographer  and  typewriter  for  the 
officers. 

"Without  a  word  of  advice  from  me  you  have  changed  a 
man's  life  in  a  fortnight." 

I  told  my  husband  that  Pete  had  been  "changing  his  life" 
faster  than  that,  without  any  advice  from  the  family. 

My  husband  was  entirely  absorbed  in  his  sister-in-law, 
and  I  knew  that  they  corresponded  outside  of  the  house. 

She  was  the  prettiest  girl  of  her  age  that  you  could  wish 
to  see.  She  had  brown  hair,  with  a  curly  kink  in  it,  and  it 
always  seemed  fixed,  no  matter  what!  Her  eyes  were  dark 
blue,  almost  too  big,  for  they  looked  fast,  and  she  said 
herself  they  embarrassed  her.  She  had  a  lovely  skin,  a 
real  Carey  skin,  shell-like — the  kind  that  on  the  hottest  day 
always  is  cool  as  ivory.  She  would  have  passed  for  a  real 
beauty  anywhere,  and  Europe  had  spoiled  her. 

I  had  noticed  that  Mr.  Kirkland  was  beginning  to  write 
again  on  his  law  reports,  for  the  work  that  he  gave  me  was 
all  scrawled  over  the  back  with  things  like 

"Oh,  lovely,  laughing  Irish  eyes, 
Amethystine  eyes — azure  orbs." 

Fanny's  eyes  were  all  those  things. 

Stephen  spent  a  great  deal  of  money  on  her.     It  made 
me  sick  to  think   she  would  take  it   from   him,  but   she 
was  really  carried  away  by  Stephen — that  was  all  there  was 
173 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

about  it.  We  had  so  much  candy  in  the  house  that  every 
one  overate,  and  we  sent  the  last  box  out  to  Pete,  in  Hono- 
lulu. He  wrote  me  real  nice  letters  for  a  boy,  and  said  he 
was  crazy  about  the  sea. 

After  my  first  jealous  anger  was  over  I  began  to  think 
chiefly  about  Fanny's  part  in  this. 

One  night  my  husband  came  in  late  from  New  York  at 
dinner-time,  and  said: 

"Well,  I've  got  the  tickets  and  the  sleepers  for  to-morrow 
night." 

"Why,  what  tickets,  Stephen  ?"  I  asked.  And  he  looked 
at  me  perfectly  surprised,  and  said: 

"Why,  the  tickets  for  Yellowstone  Park,  of  course." 

"Who's  going?" 

And  he  laughed  out  loud.  "You  and  Fanny  and  myself, 
of  course!  What's  the  matter,  Esther  ?  Have  you  lost  your 
mind  ?" 

I  helped  the  soup,  and  I  could  see  that  even  Fanny  was 
surprised  that  I  didn't  know.  We  never  said  anything  to 
each  other  but  monosyllables  these  days,  and  didn't  mention 
plans  or  any  subjects  between  us.  I  didn't  mean  that  any 
one  should  see  my  feelings  now. 

"Who  will  look  after  you,  Ferdie  ?"  I  asked  my  other 
brother,  and  he  said  he  was  going  to  take  his  vacation  the 
next  week.  Then  Stephen  began  to  talk  about  the  trip,  and 
the  striped  sands  of  Yellowstone  Park  and  the  vast  plains, 
and  how  we  would  ride. 

"Pearl" — he  called  Fanny  that — "will  be  exquisite  on  a 
donkey,  won't  she  ?  I  have  half  contrived  this  trip  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  ride  one  of  those  gentle  beasts." 

"I  hope  they'll  be  that  kind,"  I  said. 

My  sister  was  fearfully  embarrassed.  I  could  see  that  she 
174 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

was  annoyed  at  Stephen  and  annoyed  with  me,  and  prob- 
ably with  herself  as  well;  but  he  was  in  great  spirits.  He 
laughed  and  joked  and  drank  his  sizzling  ginger-ale  and 
made  toasts  to  his  sister-in-law,  Pearl — or  Eulaine,  as  he 
sometimes  called  Fanny  now. 

In  the  hall  outside  there  was  a  big  express-box  which 
Stephen  had  brought  up  with  him  on  the  hack.  It  contained 
three  new  linen  suits  for  him,  shirts  and  stockings  and  lots 
of  fine  underclothes.  A  Panama  hat  came  for  him  early  the 
next  morning,  and  a  box  of  lovely  thin  handkerchiefs  marked 
"Pearl."  I  put  them  in  Fanny's  room  and  got  ready. 

Every  now  and  then  a  bitter  taste  came  up  in  my  mouth 
as  though  there  was  gall  on  my  very  lips,  and  I  said  to  my- 
self, "I  won't  go  a  step  with  them!"  But  I  knew  that  my 
husband  wouldn't  budge  if  I  didn't,  and  he  needed  the  va- 
cation terribly.  It  was  perfectly  killing  the  way  he  took  me 
for  granted,  just  as  people  take  the  earth  or  the  sky. 


CHAPTER  XL 

IT  was  a  queer  trip. 

I  might  as  well  have  gone  alone.  But  it 
gave  me  a  chance  to  see  the  country  and 
the  West.  My  husband  seemed  on  his 
honeymoon  with  Fanny,  and  I  used  to  get 
perfectly  wild — wild  for  her!  She  was  really  in  love  with 
him  in  a  way,  but  he  never  so  much  as  referred  to  Fanny  in 
any  way.  As  soon  as  the  doors  of  our  room  were  shut  he 
appeared  to  forget  her,  and  all  his  interests  were  centred  in 
the  legal  affairs  he  had  left  behind.  He  was  receiving  letters 
from  Judge  Rollins,  and  from  Senator  Roxburg,  and  while 
we  were  in  Denver  some  one  wired  him  to  ask  him  to  take 
a  case  which  he  told  me,  if  he  accepted,  would  bring  him 
fifteen  thousand  dollars. 

I  was  watching  Fanny  like  a  hare,  and  stuck  on  every- 
where they  went.  My  husband  didn't  know  or  care,  but 
Fanny  was  blue  and  sullen  when  I  was  around.  He  teased 
her  and  joked  her  and  made  love  to  her  under  my  very  eyes. 
And  I  couldn't  but  feel  that  he  would  just  as  soon  kiss  her 
before  me,  for  he  was  as  unconscious  of  my  presence  as 
one  is  of  the  earth  and  the  air;  but,  like  the  earth  and  air,  I 
kept  there! — under  his  feet  .  .  .  ?  Well,  I  didn't  feel  it  so! 
Most  of  the  time  I  had  a  solemn,  frightened  feeling:  it  was 
growing  serious  as  far  as  my  sister  was  concerned. 

Neither  one  of  them  could  shake  me,  and  when  I  saw  that 
176 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

the  only  person  I  made  mad  by  staying  around  was  Fanny, 
I  pitied  her.  Nobody  could  be  as  pretty  as  Fanny  and  be 
safe  with  a  man,  and  when  I  was  taken  with  one  of  my  violent 
headaches  on  the  day  of  one  of  our  excursions  at  Colorado 
Springs,  I  felt  that  Fate  had  overtaken  her. 

Fanny  couldn't  disguise  her  feelings.  She  was  delighted 
that  I  was  laid  up,  and  before  they  started  she  came  in  to 
see  how  I  was. 

"Fanny,"  I  said,  "in  my  top  drawer  is  a  little  packet. 
Will  you  hand  it  to  me  ?" 

She  did  as  I  asked,  and  then  I  gave  it  to  her. 

"There,"  I  said;  "the  girl  found  them  out  in  the  front 
yard — you  must  have  dropped  them.  I  haven't  had  a  chance 
to  give  them  to  you  before.  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  not  read  them,  but  I'd  burn  them  if  I  were  you." 

She  snatched  them  from  me — half  a  dozen  letters  from 
my  husband  to  her,  addressed  to  Fanny  at  the  post-office 
in  Brackettsville,  "to  be  called  for."  She  was  flaming  red 
when  she  went  out  of  the  room — without  making  a  remark. 

They  started  away  on  their  all-day  trip,  and  I  was  nearly 
out  of  my  mind  about  it.  I  couldn't  speak  to  my  husband — 
I  knew  that  he  would  have  flown  into  a  passion  and  have 
denied  that  he  cared  whether  Fanny  lived  or  died,  and  that, 
ten  to  one,  after  a  scene  with  me,  he  might  have  taken  some- 
thing to  drink. 

Fanny  had  on  a  blue  serge  skirt  that  day,  a  blue  shirt- 
waist, and  a  sailor  with  a  blue  ribbon  around  it.  She  looked 
eighteen  years  old,  no  more,  and  her  skin  gleamed  like  pearl. 
It  was  not  until  they  had  been  gone  several  hours  that,  like 
a  flash,  Miss  Pagee  came  over  my  dull,  heavy  mind — came 
like  a  mist — like  a  ghost  from  another  world.  I  could  see 
the  picture  of  her  boat  and  her  floating  veil.  I  hadn't 
177 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

thought  of  her  for  a  long  time,  and  now  I  remembered  how 
I  had  kissed  her  like  a  sister;  and  I  decided  that  I  had  been 
mean  and  cruel  to  my  own  sister,  and  very  weak  altogether. 
At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  dressed,  sick  as  I  felt, 
put  on  my  hat,  and  then  a  faintness  seized  me,  and,  as  it  had 
often  done  before,  there  came  the  certainty  that  I  was  un- 
equal to  my  task,  and  couldn't  stem  the  tide  of  life  that  went 
so  fast  around  me.  By  the  time  I  got  down-stairs  I  was 
dripping  wet  with  perspiration,  but  started  out  to  walk  down 
the  road  which  I  knew  they  would  be  likely  to  take  coming 
back,  and  it  was  as  if  Millie  Pagee  went  along  by  my  side, 
white  and  breezy,  and  after  I  had  taken  some  dozen  steps 
in  the  road  I  stood  still  where  I  was  and  prayed. 

Then  I  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  sat  down  on  the  piazza 
and  waited. 

About  supper-time  they  drove  up  in  a  hotel  carriage,  both 
of  them  sitting  back  and  not  speaking  to  each  other. 

When  they  drove  up  Fanny  said  she  was  tired  and  hot,  and 
she  looked  cross  as  anything  and  went  up-stairs.  But 
Stephen  was  as  bright  and  as  gay  as  a  bird.  He  said: 

"I  have  been  impressed,  absorbed,  intensely  absorbed,  by 
the  beauty  of  this  country.  The  clarity  of  the  atmosphere 
— this  air  like  wine.  Still,  I  don't  feel  that  it  is  my  natural 
element.  Can't  we  get  out,  Esther  ?  I  want  to  leave 
Colorado." 

He  took  his  hat  off,  and  told  me  about  the  ranches  they 
had  visited.  He  asked  me  if  my  head  was  better,  and  said 
he  was  sorry  I  hadn't  been  along.  Here  one  of  the  clerks 
came  out  and  gave  him  a  despatch,  and  he  went  in,  and  I 
was  certain  by  the  way  he  had  acted  that  we  had  passed  a 
crisis  right  here  in  Colorado  Springs,  and  I  would  have  given 
a  five-dollar  bill  to  have  seen  how  Fanny  and  my  husband 
I78 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

had  spent  that  day  together,  especially  after  his  talk  to  me 
up  in  our  rooms  that  night. 

I  wrote  out  some  letters  for  him  for  his  office  that  evening, 
and  it  was  late  before  we  sent  them  down-stairs. 

"Esther,"  he  exclaimed,  "my  dear  girl,  I  don't  want  to 
hurt  your  feelings,  but  I  am  bored — bored  to  extinction  by 
your  sister!  I  am  sorry  to  be  rude,  my  dear,  but  another 
afternoon  like  this  would  give  me  softening  of  the  brain!" 

Then  he  smiled  at  me  with  his  greatest  charm,  and  sug- 
gested, like  a  little  boy  who  is  asking  a  favor: 

"Couldn't  you  arrange  to  send  Fanny  home?  Couldn't 
you,  my  dear  girl  ?  It's  like  going  to  market  to  go  out  with 
her  for  eight  hours  on  a  stretch,  and  I  feel  as  though  I  had 
carried  all  the  vegetables  home!" 

And  still  smiling  at  me,  he  waited,  eagerly,  for  me  to  help 
him  out. 

"  Let's  all  go  back  to  Brackettsville  to-morrow,  Stephen." 

"No,  no,  I'm  out  to  explore,  and  I'm  not  going  to  turn 
pale  at  the  first  variation  of  the  chart.  I  have  interests  in 
Oretown,  Nevada,  for  Judge  Rollins,  and  you  and  I  will 
go  on  to-morrow  and  send  Fanny  back." 

But  I  told  him  that  we  couldn't  do  anything  of  that  kind, 
that  she  was  with  us  as  our  guest,  that  she  was  going  to 
stay  with  us  right  along,  and  that  when  he  had  finished  his 
business  in  Nevada  we  would  go  back  together. 

He  gave  up  rather  humbly,  and  said :  "All  right,  my  dear, 
only  remember  that  I  married  you  and  not  your  family." 

And  I  told  him  that  we  were  narrowing  down  fast. 

"Well,  don't  get  any  more  headaches  on  our  all-day  ex- 
cursions." 

Fanny  had  eaten  her  supper  up  in  her  own  room,  and  I 
went  in  to  see  how  she  was  getting  on.  She  was  reading  a 
13  '79 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

novel  in  bed.  She  looked  tired  out,  and  as  though  she  had 
been  crying.  As  soon  as  I  came  in,  she  said: 

"See  here,  Esther,  I'm  sick  of  this  trip.  Europe's  a  great 
deal  prettier  and  more  cultivated.  Anyhow,  I  don't  believe 
Mr.  Foster  (he  was  her  employer)  is  ever  going  to  get  on 
with  my  substitute." 

"Didn't  you  like  the  ranches  ?"  I  asked  her. 

"Goodness!  It's  awfully  tame  after  Europe!  I  am 
ready  to  go  home." 

I  told  her  we  were  going  on  to  Oretown  the  next  day,  and 
I  couldn't  let  her  break  up  the  party  like  this  here.  And 
when  I  bade  her  good-night,  I  said : 

"If  you  want  to  go  back  from  Oretown  on  Sunday  night 
I  guess  we  can  fix  it  up,  only  your  ticket  is  good  as  far  as 
San  Francisco." 

"Mercy!"  she  exclaimed,  as  cross  as  anything.  "I  don't 
see  how  any  one  can  travel  West  who  can  go  to  Europe. 
But  you  haven't  been  abroad,  Esther.  Do  you  like  it  here  ?" 

And  I  told  her  I  thought  it  was  a  good  enough  place  to 
start  away  from,  but  that  /  hadn't  seen  the  ranches! 


CHAPTER   XLI 

HINGS  that  start  away  and  round  out  into 
the  wide,  wide  circles,  start  from  the  littlest 
specks.  As  I  look  back  now,  Oretown, 
Nevada,  seems  a  speck  to  begin  from,  and  yet 
Stephen's  life  started  there.  Our  train  was 
fourteen  hours  late.  As  we  got  off  the  filthy  cars  we  saw  a 
bare,  hot  road,  and,  half  a  mile  back,  a  settlement  of  houses 
which  was  Oretown,  some  fifteen  miles  from  Gold  City.  How 
dreadfully  homeless  the  plains  can  be  in  the  winter  I  learned 
to  know.  The  grass  had  been  cut,  and  the  stubble  was 
rough  and  ugly.  There  was  a  group  at  the  station,  for  the 
town  had  turned  out  to  meet  Stephen,  and  an  old  hack, 
white  with  dust,  with  skittish  horses  acting  like  sixty,  waited 
to  drive  us  over.  The  men  were  awfully  Western  in  their 
looks  and  dress,  but  they  were  very  polite  to  Fanny  and  me. 
They  were  representative  men,  interested  in  this  new  town, 
the  starting-point  of  the  O.  &  W.  N.  Railroad. 

My  husband  had  come  from  New  York  to  attend  to  the 
contracts.  He  was  attending  as  well  to  the  financiering  of 
the  railroad. 

Just  before  we  came  to  our  destination  the  best-looking 
man  of  the  party,  Judge  Baxfield,  said: 

"I  had  planned  to  receive  you  at  my  house,  ladies,  but 
I  did  not  know  that  there  were  three  of  you  in  your  party.  I 
have  only  one  spare  room." 

181 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

My  husband  said: 

"If  you  are  really  so  kind,  Judge,  as  to  want  any  of  us, 
take  the  ladies.  I  can  put  up  at  the — "  And  he  asked  the 
name,  with  his  eyebrows,  of  Mr.  Madder,  the  editor  of  the 
Oretown  News. 

"First  Hotel,"  Madder  answered,  "and  it  might  be  called 
the  first  and  the  only,  because  it  is  both." 

I  could  see  that  Fanny  thought  the  Judge  good-looking. 
He  looked  clean,  cheerful,  and  smart.  He  had  white  teeth, 
like  new  corn,  and  a  pointed  beard  just  turning  a  little  bit 
gray.  He  laughed  a  great  deal,  and  his  voice  was  pleasant 
and  Southern.  I  should  say  he  was  about  forty  years  old. 

"You  don't  know  how  proud  I  am,  ladies!  Such  a 
pleasure  as  this  hasn't  been  mine  since  I  came  to  Oretown." 

He  didn't  seem  a  bit  embarrassed. 

"It  is  not  New  York,  but  it  is  all  yours  from  now  on,  and 
the  guest-room  is  at  the  head  of  the  stairs." 

There  was  a  colored  boy  at  the  door,  with  a  white  apron 
on  and  a  face  as  black  as  ink. 

Our  room  was  big  and  cool.  The  furniture  was  "old 
Virginia  Colonial,"  Judge  Baxfield  told  us;  when  he  had 
come  to  Nevada  to  live  here  he  had  brought  his  goods 
with  him. 

The  other  rooms  upstairs  were  not  furnished  at  all. 
That  was  how  it  happened  there  was  only  one  guest-room. 
I  learned  afterward  that  his  wife  died  the  first  year  they  were 
out  here. 

We  stood,  Fanny  and  I,  out  West — far  out  West — and 
together  in  the  same  room,  as  far  as  I  could  remember,  for 
the  first  time  in  our  lives. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  the  sun  was  sinking  down, 
and  our  windows  fronted  the  west.  Outside  the  horizon 
182 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

was  a  long,  fiery  band,  and  the  light  floated  in  and  laid  its 
crimson  touch  over  everything. 

"Well,  upon  my  word,  Esther  Carey,"  Fanny  said,  "if 
this  isn't  the  dreariest  jumping-off  place  on  the  globe!  And 
how  can  we  ever  sleep  together  ?  I'm  not  used  to  it." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  guess  you  won't  find  me  much  bother, 
Fanny.  I  have  learned  to  squeeze  up  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  and  not  mind  it  if  all  the  bedclothes  and  the  pillows  are 
taken  away." 

She  laughed.  "Goodness!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  queer 
you  are!" 

I  began  to  fix  the  bags  and  to  sort  out  the  things  for 
Stephen,  and  it  seemed  strange  to  have  our  things  apart 
and  to  send  him  over  his.  I  hadn't  any  doubt  that  he  would 
put  them  on  all  wrong,  for  if  I  hadn't  given  him  out  what  I 
thought  it  was  right  for  him  to  wear,  he  would  put  on  one 
gray  stocking  and  one  black,  and  never  know  the  difference. 

"Judge  Baxfield  is  nice-looking,  isn't  he,  Fanny?" 

"H'm!  he  hasn't  much  style.  They  all  look  like  hay- 
seeds!" 

And  I  told  her  I  guessed  it  was  a  good  crop.  Senator 
Bellars  was  from  Nevada,  and  the  State  had  charm  for 
me,  but  I  could  see  my  sister  thought  I  was  limited  be- 
cause I  hadn't  travelled  abroad.  After  all,  Fanny  had  only 
been  once,  and  I've  found  out  that  it  is  only  when  you  have 
been  over  several  times  that  you  learn  to  be  quiet  about  it. 


CHAPTER   XLII 

FTER  the  first  day  or  two  I  discovered  Ore- 
town  was  a  man's  town.  There  were  men 
everywhere,  and  Fanny  flirted  frightfully.  My 
husband  stayed  on  at  the  First  Hotel,  for  peo- 
ple came  from  all  over  the  district  to  see  him 
about  the  railroad,  and  there  the  two  Senators,  Mr.  Rose  and 
Mr.  Hendricks,  acting  through  Stephen,  organized  and  put 
through  the  road  known  then  as  the  Oretown  &  West 
Nevada,  and  to-day  as  "the  Big  N." 

Stephen  could  have  his  company  more  freely  at  First 
Hotel.  I  did  the  secretary  work,  but  in  the  afternoon  he 
wouldn't  hear  of  my  writing,  so  Judge  Baxfield  would  take 
me  in  his  surrey  out  to  drive  over  the  soft,  reddish  roads, 
to  "prospect,"  as  he  said.  He  rode  a  great  deal  on  horse- 
back, and  in  his  riding-clothes  looked  like  a  handsome  officer 
of  the  Confederate  Army.  Fanny — you  couldn't  lay  your 
finger  on  her!  She  was  off  from  morning  till  night  with  her 
friends,  and  if  she  had  been  the  only  woman  in  Oretown 
they  couldn't  have  been  crazier  about  her!  It  amused 
Stephen  very  much  when  he  had  time  to  think  about  it. 

"  I'm  glad  your  sister  is  such  a  success,  Esther.  It's  worth 
while  taking  a  pretty  girl  around.  She'd  be  invaluable  in 
a  campaign  as  a  vote -solicitor,  wouldn't  she?  —  or  as  a 
lobbyist." 

One  day,  when  we  had  been  working  hard  over  prospec- 
184 


A   SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

tuses  and  old  grants  and  new  land  purchases,  Stephen  put 
down  on  the  table  a  tiny  box  done  up  in  paper  and 
seals. 

"Here's  a  souvenir  for  you,  my  dear  girl.  Open  the  first 
tribute  from  the  O.  &  W.  N.  to  its  private  secretary." 

It  was  exciting  to  unseal  and  unwrap,  and  when  I  found 
a  ruby  ring  for  the  little  finger,  set  round  with  diamonds,  a 
perfect  beauty,  I  was  simply  delighted!  It  was  the  only 
present  he  had  given  me  except  my  wedding-ring.  Until  I 
put  that  ring  on  my  finger  I  didn't  know  I  had  missed 
presents. 

I  laid  my  hand  on  Stephen's  shoulder  and  watched  my 
ring  sparkle,  and  thanked  him — and  he  called  me  a  name 
he  often  used  afterward — "Best  in  the  World." 

"Standing  by,  my  dear  girl,  always  standing  by,  like  a 
signal  at  a  crossing — like  a  buoy  out  at  the  whirlpool's  edge — 
like  a  torch  at  the  danger  of  the  mine — like  a  lighthouse  star 
over  the  reef." 

"Nonsense,  Stephen,"  I  said;  "you're  too  poetical  for  a 
lawyer.  You  ought  to  write  an  Iliad,  that's  what  you  ought 
to  do!" 

He  was  lawyer  as  well  as  financier,  and  out  here  on  this 
deal,  as  soon  as  they  had  looked  over  the  contract  and  drawn 
up  the  sales  and  deeds  of  the  district,  and  done  the  land- 
purchase  part,  Stephen's  chiefs  intended  to  come  out  to  Ore- 
town.  It  was  much  to  my  husband's  honor  that  no  one  had 
to  come.  Without  a  bit  of  fuss  and  hitch  the  deal  went 
through,  and  his  reports  and  his  legal  work  were  so  Ai  that 
they  gave  Stephen  carte  blanche  to  wind  up  the  business,  and 
sent  the  surveyors  for  the  road  out  to  him  to  take  their 
directions.  It  was  from  his  first  check,  on  the  day  they  broke 
the  first  ground  across  the  plains  toward  Carson  City,  the 
185 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

day  that  the  first  bunch  of  Italians  walked  in  from  the  Junc- 
tion, that  Stephen  gave  me  my  ring. 

Judge  Baxfield  used  to  put  on  a  Tuxedo  every  night; 
but  as  for  my  husband,  when  there  wasn't  a  woman  he  was 
making  love  to  he  never  cared!  We  had  been  West  over 
six  months,  and  our  dressmaker  in  Brackettsville  sent  me 
out  some  things;  she  knew  Fanny's  style  and  mine,  and  she 
made  me  a  pretty  crepon  dress.  I  put  the  gown  on  this 
night,  to  keep  up  with  the  ring.  I  hadn't  showed  my  present 
to  Fanny,  but  at  table,  when  Judge  Baxfield  finished  carving 
the  meat,  she  saw  it. 

"Gracious,  Esther  Carey,  where  in  the  world — ?" 

"Oretown  &  West  Nevada,"  I  answered.  I  was  proud, 
and  showed  it  round.  Judge  Baxfield  handed  it  back  to  me 
without  remark. 

Stephen,  not  noticing  Judge  Baxfield's  silence,  said: 
"Very  curious  the  way  I  feel  about  presents.  It  never  in- 
terests me  to  give  one  unless  it  can  be  really  beautiful.  This 
is  the  first  gift  I  have  made  my  wife  since  we  were  married." 

Judge  Baxfield  said,  with  meaning:  "That  is  very 
curious." 

After  dinner  we  walked  into  the  little  garden  back  of  the 
dwelling,  where  Judge  Baxfield  had  put  out  a  lot  of  flowers 
and  planted  some  splendid  trees.  There  was  a  bit  of  young 
orchard  that  ran  down  to  a  creek  that  the  district  called 
by  the  name  of  Ore  Creek,  and  Fanny  and  Judge  Baxfield 
went  ahead.  As  we  walked  along,  Stephen  said: 

"Judge  Baxfield  would  make  an  ideal  husband  for  your 
sister,  my  dear  girl.  I  thought  so  the  first  day  we  rode  out 
from  the  Junction  in  the  stage.  There's  a  chap  with  a 
heart  and  brains,  and  he's  a  perfect  fool  about  a  woman. 
Fanny  should  set  her  cap  for  him!" 
186 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"I  don't  believe  he's  as  easy  to  catch  as  you  think, 
Stephen." 

"There  isn't  a  man  living  whom  a  clever  woman  can't 
have  for  the  trying,  and  you'll  admit  that  I  have  never  sug- 
gested a  parti  for  your  sister  before.  I  advise  you  to  stop 
your  sister's  heart-rending  flirtations  with  the  riffraff  of  this 
town,  and  get  her  married.  She'll  never  have  a  second 
chance  like  this." 

That  night  up-stairs  Fanny  was  quieter  than  usual  going 
to  bed.  I  asked  her  what  she  was  going  to  do  next  day,  for 
there  was  a  concert  at  Maryville,  a  little  town  two  hours' 
ride  away,  and  most  of  Oretown  was  driving  over  in  buck- 
boards  and  buggies. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  that  old  show,  if  that's  what  you  mean!" 
She  was  braiding  her  hair.  "Hasn't  Judge  Baxfield  an 
elegant  figure,  Esther  ?  He  makes  the  rest  of  Oretown  men 
look  common." 

"I  didn't  know  you  liked  the  Judge,  Fanny." 

She  finished  her  hair;  it  sort  of  curled  up  as  she  braided 
it.  She  was  awfully,  awfully  pretty;  there  wasn't  any  doubt 
about  it. 

"That  shows  how  slow  you  are  to  see  things,"  she  an- 
swered. "He's  the  kind  of  man  you'd  respect  awfully,  so 
sensible  and  calm." 

I  didn't  say  anything.  We  had  candles  at  the  Judge's, 
and  I  did  my  hair  slowly,  so  the  light  would  sparkle  in  my 
ring.  Judge  Baxfield's  house  stood  where  we  could  leave 
our  blinds  open  on  the  west  side.  There  was  nothing  in 
front  of  us  for  hundreds  of  miles,  and  I  was  perfectly  crazy 
about  that  west  outlook.  The  meadows  stood  high  with 
grain  on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  there  were  farms 
and  a  road.  The  west  view  would  have  been  called  plain 
187 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

dreary,  I  suppose,  by  most  people;  Fanny  thought  so.  Next 
week  they  were  going  to  cut  the  line  through,  and  I  looked 
forward  to  watching  it  grow  from  my  window. 

"If  Judge  Baxfield  asked  me  to  marry  him,  I'd  do  it 
quicker  than  a  wink,"  my  sister  said. 

And  I  answered:  "If  you  really  feel  that  way,  Fanny,  if 
I  were  you  I'd  go  home  right  now." 

"Goodness  gracious!     What  for?" 

"Because  you've  carried  on  so  here  and  flirted,  and,  now 
you're  tired,  it  will  look  as  if  you  threw  yourself  at  Judge 
Baxfield's  head.  Go  back  to  Brackettsville,  and  let  him 
miss  you." 

When  we  had  blown  the  candles  out  and  gone  to  bed, 
Fanny  agreed,  for  a  wonder.  "I  believe  you're  right, 
Esther.  I'm  really  set  on  this,  and  serious.  I'll  take  your 
advice,  and  go  back  home  this  week."  After  a  little  she  went 
on:  "But  suppose  the  Judge  never  comes  and  never  asks 
me?" 

"Why,  then  you  can  come  out  here  again.  It's  more  than 
likely  we  shall  be  here  right  along  for  a  year  or  so,  anyhow." 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

ANNY  went  East.  It  was  the  only  time 
she  took  counsel  from  anybody  in  the  world, 
I  really  believe,  and  she  hadn't  been  gone 
more  than  a  week  when  I  wondered  what  on 
earth  had  made  me  send  her  and  what  she 
would  say  if  she  could  see  what  was  going  on  right  here  in 
Oretown. 

I  don't  honestly  think  it  was  my  fault. 
Judge  Baxfield  didn't  suggest  that  Stephen  should  come 
over  from  the  hotel  when  he  found  that  Fanny  was  going 
away.  Stephen  was  better  off  at  the  hotel,  and  it  would  have 
made  me  nervous  to  have  him  muss  up  Judge  Baxfield's 
neat,  spick-and-span  rooms.  I  went  over  to  the  hotel,  and 
they  put  me  up  in  an  awful  room,  and  my  lovely  west  view 
had  disappeared.  We  went  to  meals  at  Judge  Baxfield's 
regularly.  My  husband  said  he  was  an  ideal  man.  For  my 
part,  I  don't  think  there  are  any  ideal  men  going  round  on 
two  feet.  There  may  be  some  yet  to  be  born,  or  some  dead : 
/  never  saw  any,  not  my  ideal,  anyhow!  The  very  things 
they're  short  on  make  you  like  them  just  for  those  reasons. 
Since  Mr.  Sinclair's  death  I  had  never  seen  Stephen  take  a 
fancy  to  any  one.  When  he  told  about  his  schemes  and  his 
work  with  the  O.  &  W.  N.,  Judge  Baxfield  listened,  for  the 
most  part,  without  saying  a  word.  It  was  plain  as  the  nose 
on  your  face  that  he  didn't  like  my  husband.  Whenever 
189 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

there  was  a  dig  to  give  or  a  little  sharp  thing  to  say,  he  didn't 
lose  the  chance,  and  Stephen  didn't  appear  to  notice  or  to 
mind. 

Judge  Baxfield  took  me  out  riding  in  his  buckboard  to  see 
the  men  laying  rails,  and  over  back  to  the  farms  in  the  other 
direction,  and  before  I  knew  it  we  had  pretty  much  ridden 
through  the  district.  He  seemed  to  love  the  State,  and  told 
me  that  he  hadn't  quite  made  up  his  mind  whether  or  not 
to  run  for  the  Senate  at  the  next  election.  Mr.  Bellars 
was  the  other  representative  for  Nevada.  Judge  Baxfield 
never  spoke  to  me  of  my  husband.  In  the  afternoons, 
when  I  had  nothing  to  do,  we  used  to  go  down  to  the  or- 
chard back  of  his  house,  where  he  had  built  an  arbor,  and 
he  read  aloud  to  me,  his  straw  hat  on  the  bench  by  his  side, 
and  I  would  work  on  some  centrepieces  I  had  ordered  sent 
out  to  me.  I  was  always  thinking  now  of  a  real  home. 

I  tried  once  to  talk  to  Judge  Baxfield  about  his  wife  who 
had  died,  but  he  liked  better  to  tell  about  Virginia,  and  when 
he  found  out  that  my  family  were  from  Georgia  it  seemed 
to  be  a  real  bond.  My  husband's  words  constantly  re- 
turned to  my  mind,  and  I  tried  to  think  of  Fanny  and 
Judge  Baxfield  together. 

It  was  nearly  apple-time,  and  the  apples  hung  red  in  the 
trees.  The  air  was  perfectly  delicious,  like  wine,  and  gently 
blowy.  From  where  we  sat  we  could  hear  the  creek  running 
down  to  the  grain-fields.  My  husband  had  closed  up  the 
first  part  of  the  railroad  work,  and  there  was  no  reason  why 
we  should  stay  on  an  hour  here,  and  I  expected  him  any 
minute  to  tell  me  to  pack  up;  but  lately  he  had  taken  to 
riding  over  to  Carson  City  and  through  the  district,  showing 
an  interest  in  the  country  in  general.  He  was  one  of  the 
people  you  wouldn't  prophesy  about,  and  as  I  sewed  and 
190 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

listened  to  Judge  Baxfield  read  Middlemarch  I  was  thinking 
I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  Stephen  stayed  out  here,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  and  that  I  should  like  it  as  well  as  anything. 

Judge  Baxfield  said:  "Either  Mr.  Kirkland  or  I  will  have 
to  go  East."  He  put  Middlemarch  down  by  his  hat  on  the 
bench,  folded  his  hands  on  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  leaned 
forward,  looking  at  me  with  all  his  might.  There  was  so 
much  in  his  face,  he  looked  so  earnestly  and  sadly,  that  I 
got  right  up  and  let  my  work  fall.  To  go  out  of  the  arbor 
I  should  have  to  pass  him,  and  it  frightened  me. 

"Ever  since  I  came  here  from  Virginia  I  have  been  trying 
to  endure  the  loss  of  my  wife,  whom  I  loved.  I  was  a  young 
man  then;  it  will  be  harder  now.  Don't  speak — don't 
speak.  I  know  what  you  would  say.  I  know,  I  know"  . .  . 

I  didn't  answer  him,  for  I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  How 
could  I  preach  ?  I  hadn't  been  very  good  about  caring  for 
married  people  myself.  The  creek  dashed  by  loud  and 
clear,  and  up  in  the  red  apple-tree,  where  I  looked  to  escape 
his  eyes,  there  were  shafts  of  bright  sunlight,  like  fairy 
swords.  The  Judge  had  asked  us  over  to  supper  this 
evening,  as  usual,  and  I  thought  to  myself:  "Dear  me, 
we  cant  stay  now!" 

". . .  Ever  since  the  day  you  got  off  the  train  at  the  Junction 
and  drove  over,  sitting  opposite  me  in  the  stage,  then  came 
to  my  house  and  under  my  roof,  and  lived  here  like  a  dove 
with  your  sister — ever  since  I've  loved  you,  Esther  Kirkland. 
You  are  not  so  spoiled  that  it  will  do  you  any  harm  to  hear 
this." 

"Yes,  it  will" — I  spoke  then.  "Please  don't  tell  me  any 
more." 

He  answered,  quietly:  "I  will  not  tell  you  any  more.  I 
will  never  speak  again,  and  that's  a  great  deal  to  promise 
191 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

a  woman.  I  have  read  of  good  women,  of  strong  and  tender 
women,  and  women  who  were  sacrificed  to  men's  egotism — " 

"Please,  Judge  Baxfield— " 

"I  have  read  of  the  patient  Griseldas  and  thought  them 
ridiculous.  You  are  the  ideal  woman."  He  said  this  sev- 
eral times,  and  then  rose.  "  The  ideal  woman" 

I  felt  perfectly  ashamed,  for  I  had  just  been  thinking  to 
myself  there  were  no  ideal  men.  It  was  so  utterly  foolish 
and  so  impossible  that  he  should  care  for  me  that  I  wasn't 
able  to  take  it  as  deeply  as  he  meant  me  to  and  as  I  should. 

"I  won't  say  anything  about  your  husband,  or,  rather, 
about  the  man  you've  married,"  he  went  on.  "But  if 
there's  anything  ever  you  want  done — at  any  time  and  any- 
where— any  service  on  God's  earth,  let  me  know  it,  Esther 
Kirkland.  Let  me  render  it."  He  put  out  both  his  hands. 
"I  pray  of  you,  let  me  be  the  one  to  serve  you." 

He  stood  like  that,  his  hands  outstretched,  and  it  all 
flashed  over  me,  and  I  said: 

"There  is  something  that  you  could  do  that  I  would  like 
you  to  do,  only  you  wouldn't  hear  of  it — " 

When  he  laughed  it  made  my  heart  ache;  the  sound  had 
a  kind  of  expectant  pleasure  in  it. 

"  Wouldnt  do  it!  Why,  I'd  live  to  do  it  day  and  night. 
What  is  it  ?" 

"I  don't  suppose  you'll  do  it  right  now,  anyway."  I 
spoke  fast — it  wasn't  easy,  with  him  staring  down  like  that 
at  me.  "I  don't  expect  you  to  more  than  think  it  over  now. 
I'd  be  glad  if  you'd  marry  my  sister  Fanny." 

He  stepped  back,  half  fell  down  on  the  bench,  and  burst 
out  into  an  awful  laugh. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  after  a  second;  then  went 
on,  violently:  "I  think  you  must  be  crazy!  Marry  your 
192 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

sister!  Why,  I  love  you,  I  love  you  !  Starved  and  neglected 
woman,  don't  you  know  what  the  word  love  means  ?" 

This  I  didn't  answer;   it  was  none  of  his  business. 

"There  are  some  men,"  he  exclaimed,  angrily,  "who  draw 
good  women  by  their  very  vices;  their  weakness  has  a  charm 
for  certain  devoted  feminine  souls — " 

"My  sister  Fanny  would  make  you  a  good  wife  and  make 
you  very  happy,"  I  said,  right  on  top  of  this.  "I  ought  not 
to  tell  you,  but  I  will :  I  really  think  she  likes  you  very  much." 

I  believe  he  swore,  and  clinched  the  seat  between  his 
hands,  but  I  had  to  stand  stock-still,  not  daring  to  pass  him. 
After  a  second,  he  said,  "You  are  free  to  leave  this  arbor, 
Mrs.  Kirkland,  when  you  will,"  and  he  stepped  aside  and  I 
flew  out.  I  didn't  think  anything  I  had  said  about  Fanny 
would  make  a  bit  of  difference  to  him  then,  but  I  thought  he 
might  think  of  it  later;  anyhow,  he  would  remember  what  I 
said  about  her  liking  him,  and  perhaps  it  would  touch  him 
when  he  thought  about  me. 

I  hadn't  gone  as  far  as  the  front  porch  when  I  met  Stephen 
coming  along,  gay  as  a  boy,  his  papers  under  his  arm.  I 
wanted  to  tell  him  that  I  had  a  headache  and  couldn't  go  in 
to  supper,  but  before  I  could  speak  he  drew  my  arm  through 
his  and  hurried  me  up  the  porch  steps,  telling  me  about  his 
visit  to  Garson  City,  where  he  had  been  two  days. 

We  stayed  to  supper,  and  Stephen  talked  all  the  time.  He 
said  a  lot  about  the  "paeans  of  the  Occident,"  "the  hymns 
to  the  Virgin  Land,"  and  how  glad  he  was  he  had  drifted 
West,  and  of  how  the  country  had  need  of  every  thinking 
man  to  speak  for  her. 

"Oretown  is  my  branch  at  last,"  he  said;  "I  shall  poise 
here  until  I  am  ready  to  fly." 

And  Judge  Baxfield  answered,  quietly:  "I  don't  think 
193 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

First  Hotel  is  much  of  a  perch  for  Mrs.  Kirkland  to  poise 
on." 

And  Stephen  laughed.  "Esther  doesn't  mind,  my  dear 
Baxfield;  she  is  not  a  materialist;  she's  above  the  branch, 
aren't  you,  my  dear  girl  ?  But,  curiously  enough,  that's 
just  what  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about,  Baxfield." 

It  was  terrible  to  me  to  see  the  Judge's  face,  and  to  re- 
alize how  nervous  Stephen  made  him. 

"  Do  you  want  to  talk  to  me  about  Mrs.  Kirkland's  spirit- 
uality ?"  the  Judge  asked. 

"No.  About  settling  down  here,  in  Oretown,  Baxfield. 
I've  decided  to  practise  law  in  this  county.  I've  bought  the 
Oretown  Cry,  and  I'm  going  to  make  it  echo  over  the  eternal 
plains,  and  I'm  going  to  do  some  of  their  law  work  for  them 
here  if  they'll  give  it  to  me,  and  so  on,  and  so  on — ' 

And  Judge  Baxfield  took  it  up.  "And  so  on,"  he  con- 
tinued, slowly,  "to  the  East  again?" 

My  husband  leaned  back  in  his  chair  smoking  his  long 
cigarette  and  smiling  like  a  boy,  just  as  though  he  wasn't 
talking  to  a  man  who  was  absorbed  in  his  own  career  and 
close  political  ambitions  right  here  in  this  district.  "  So  on 
to  the  East  again."  He  nodded  genially  to  Judge  Baxfield. 

"To  the  House  of  Representatives?" 

Stephen  smoked  and  smiled. 

"  To  the  Senate,  Kirkland  ?" 

Stephen  didn't  say  a  word.  Judge  Baxfield  laughed  softly 
and  drank  off  his  glass  of  water,  wiped  his  mouth,  and  put 
his  napkin  down;  then  he  looked  at  me  quite  a  long  time 
while  my  husband  gazed  after  his  tobacco  smoke,  and  at  his 
ideas  and  how  high  they  went.  A  million  times,  in  the  look 
he  gave  me,  Judge  Baxfield  repeated  what  he  had  said  to  me 
out  in  the  orchard,  and  I  blushed,  for  his  expression  was 
194 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

wonderful:  exalted,  noble,  and  beautiful — triumphant.  He 
made  me  meet  his  eyes,  and  they  told  me:  "There,  now  you 
know,  and  you'll  have  to  accept  what  I'm  going  to  do!" 
Then  he  looked  over  at  Stephen,  and  the  light  died  from  his 
face. 

"You  want  to  speak  to  me,  Kirkland,  about  settling  in 
Oretown  in  view  of  your  new  career  ?" 

"Yes;  the  First  Hotel  may  be  all  very  well  as  a  penance, 
but  it's  played  out." 

"Quite  so,"  the  Judge  agreed.  "Why  don't  you  take  my 
house  ?" 

My  husband  put  his  chair  down  on  its  four  legs  and  took 
his  cigarette  in  his  hand. 

"  I'm  going  East  this  week,"  our  friend  continued.  "  I've 
had  news  that  calls  me  out  of  Oretown  indefinitely.  I'm 
thinking  of  going  to  Washington:  in  all  likelihood,  I  shall 
never  turn  up  here  again." 

"But,  my  dear  Baxfield — ' 

"The  place  will  be  a  white  elephant  on  my  hands,  as  you 
can  see  for  yourself,  Kirkland — a  useless  extravagance  and 
expense.  It  has  served  its  purpose,  and,  as  you  say  of  First 
Hotel,  it  has  worn  itself  out.  It  would  be  a  real  favor  to  me 
if  you  would  take  it  off  my  hands." 

"By  Jove!"  Stephen  exclaimed,  "one  of  the  reasons  for 
my  hanging  on  out  here  is  you:  we  hit  it  off  so  well  to- 
gether." 

Judge  Baxfield's  colored  boy  had  brought  in  the  black 
coffee,  and  the  Judge  poured  out  the  three  cups  and 
handed  me  mine. 

"I  shall  be  sorry  to  go  in  some  respects,  glad  in  others; 
at  any  rate,  it's  a  settled  thing.  Think  over  what  I  say  about 
the  house." 

14  195 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"But  your  public  field  here,  old  man  ?" 

And  the  Judge  answered,  shortly:  "The  facts  are  just  as 
I  have  stated  them,  Kirkland." 

Stephen  accepted.  "Thank  you,  Baxfield,  I  will  be  glad 
to  take  the  house." 

He  never  asked  me  or  turned  to  me.  I  sat  stirring  my 
coffee.  I  felt  that  we  were  nothing  but  robbers  of  this  man's 
goods,  and  I  found  my  courage,  and  said  to  Stephen : 

"Why,  any  house  is  good  enough  for  us  while  we  stay  on 
here." 

Judge  Baxfield  broke  in:  "There  you  are  wrong!  The 
house  is  rough  enough  and  simple  enough,  God  knows. 
The  life  is  dull  enough,  but  it  will  be  more  like  home  than 
anything  in  Oretown,  and  I  reckon  a  woman  likes  that." 
He  was  looking  at  me  steadily.  "I  shall  be  honored  if  you 
will  move  in  here,  Mrs.  Kirkland,  and  make  a  home  of  the 
place,  and  watch  the  O.  &  W.  N.  grow  from  your  window, 
and  watch  your  husband's  career  from  here." 

I  could  have  cried.  I  was  angry  and  touched.  I  knew  that 
the  Judge  adored  his  house  and  the  garden,  and  that  he  had 
a  triumphant  feeling  in  his  heart.  I  knew,  without  any 
words,  that  he  felt  he  was  giving  me  my  first  home,  the  one 
he  had  built  and  made,  and  he  was  right:  it  was  the  first 
real  home  I  ever  had. 

We  were  to  move  in  on  a  Wednesday  and  to  take  the  keys 
from  the  Judge  himself,  and  Stephen  and  he  transacted  the 
deal  together;  but  when  we  came  to  take  possession  we 
found  he  had  gone  on  East  the  night  before,  and  we  went  in 
alone,  my  husband  and  myself,  and  Stephen  was  perfectly 
delighted. 

That  first  evening  in  the  west  room  Stephen  and  I  stood 
there  together  looking  out.  There  were  frame  huts  thrown 
:Q6 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

up  now,  here  and  there,  on  the  plains,  on  the  line  of  the  rail- 
road; and  many  miles  away,  in  the  clear  atmosphere,  we 
could  see  the  smoke  of  the  first  cabins  of  the  Dagos.  The 
Italians  and  Poles  came  in  car-loads  and  broke  through  the 
road  with  Oretown  overseers,  and  the  earth  cut  up  like  magic; 
one  day  there  was  only  a  big,  husky  bunch  of  men  under  my 
window,  and  it  seemed  the  very  next  a  car  rolled  by. 

"It's  fine,  isn't  it?"  Stephen  said — "big  and  inspiring,  and 
the  road  cuts  through  like  a  sword." 

I  said  that  I  was  proud  of  him,  and  he  turned  suddenly 
and  asked: 

"Why,  pray  ?" 

"Because  you  have  made  a  mark  right  here  in  this  State: 
that's  your  road,  the  O.  &.  W.  N." 

"Nonsense!  It's  the  Rose  and  Hendricks  gold  that 
created  it." 

"Gold  never  created  anything,  Steohen;  it's  brains,  and 
I'm  proud  of  you." 

He  was  very  much  pleased.     He  said,  later: 

"Baxfield's  a  queer  chap,  don't  you  think  so?  To  rush 
off  suddenly  out  of  a  State  which  he  could  sway  to  his  will  ? 
They  would  have  made  him  Governor  if  he  had  stayed.  Do 
you  know,  my  dear  girl,  I've  thought  it  all  out,  and  I  believe 
he's  gone  East  to  be  married!  Nothing  but  love  would  take 
a  man  out  of  his  element  like  this,  and  I  must  say  that  I've 
never  seen  it  stop  a  career  like  this  before.  I  think  it's 
Fanny.  The  next  thing  we  know  we'll  hear  that  your  sister 
is  Mrs.  Richard  Baxfield." 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

HE  little  finger-ring  was  the  first  of  Stephen's 
presents,  but  they  came  fast  afterward.  He 
liked  to  have  packages  sent  out  from  the  East, 
and  I  never  opened  anything  until  he  was 
there  to  cut  the  strings  and  the  seals,  and  to 
watch  me.  O.  &  W.  N.  had  been  put  on  the  market  long 
ago,  and  had  luck — extraordinary  luck  and  confidence — right 
through.  When  the  road  turned  toward  San  Francisco,  then 
Stephen's  chiefs  did  come  on — Judge  Rollins  and  Mr.  Rose 
and  Mr.  Hendricks  and  Mr.  Thompson — and  the  old  hack- 
stage  fetched  them  to  First  Hotel  as  it  had  fetched  us,  and  al- 
though we  couldn't  take  care  of  them  all  at  our  house,  still 
they  dined  with  us,  and  it  was  "a  big  thing"  for  my  husband. 
I  cooked  every  bit  of  the  dinner,  from  soup  down  to  the  pie. 
The  colored  boy  had  gone  East  with  Judge  Baxfield,  but  the 
girl  we  had  made  stay  on  at  thirty  dollars,  just  for  the  week 
the  railroad  chiefs  were  there  in  Oretown,  waited  nicely. 

Senator  Hendricks  was  perfectly  splendid.  I  always  said 
so,  and  stood  up  for  him,  no  matter  what  his  reputation  was 
afterward.  I  was  so  excited  and  proud  I  couldn't  eat  a 
mouthful.  Stephen  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  they 
talked  about  Washington  and  the  future,  and  Judge  Rol- 
lins said : 

"You've  got  my  backing,  Kirkland,  skin  and  hide,  if  it 
will  do  you  any  good." 

198 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

And  Senator  Hendricks  said:  "I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  contradicting  you  yet  in  the  Senate,  Kirkland."  And 
Stephen's  cheeks  were  red,  and  his  eyes  as  bright  as  a 
boy's. 

He  had  got  wines  for  them  and  the  best  cigars,  and  siphons 
and  Apollinaris,  all  sent  out  in  cases;  we  had  learned  to 
keep  everything  out  there.  They  wouldn't  hear  of  my 
leaving  the  table  after  the  ice-cream. 

Senator  Hendricks  said:  "Not  any  champagne,  Kirkland, 
to  wet  a  toast  for  the  little  road  ?" 

My  husband  bowed  and  smiled,  and  lifted  up  his  fizz- 
water.  "This  is  my  drink,  gentlemen."  Then  some  one 
turned  the  subject. 

Of  course  they  drank  my  health,  and,  as  I  looked  at  them, 
Stephen  seemed  to  me  the  best  of  all,  and  I  was  proud  of 
him.  Mr.  Thompson  asked  me  if  I  knew  I  owned  a  thou- 
sand shares  of  the  O.  &  W.  N.  Of  course  I  didn't.  Stephen 
hadn't  told  me :  it  was  an  anniversary  present,  he  said.  And 
I  told  the  gentlemen  that  I  was  glad  to  have  it,  for  I  had 
watched  the  road  grow  from  my  window.  I  didn't  take  in 
what  a  thousand  shares  meant,  but  I  began  to  the  following 
year  when  the  dividends  came  in.  I  put  the  most  of  it  away, 
and  Stephen  never  touched  a  cent  of  my  money;  he  just 
turned  the  checks  over  to  me,  and  I  put  it  in  the  Carson 
City  Bank. 

The  private  car  the  gentlemen  had  come  in  had  been 
switched  off  on  to  our  little  line,  and  I  watched  that  go 
farther  West.  Stephen  and  I  were  invited  to  go  out  with 
them,  but  I  wouldn't;  I  made  him  go  alone.  I  knew  that 
he  would  have  a  better  time  alone  with  the  men,  and  he 
needed  it;  and  up  in  the  window  of  Judge  Baxfield's  spare 
room  I  watched  the  splendid  Pullman  and  the  one  baggage 
199 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

car  and  puffing  engine  pull  off  across  our  road,  and  I  was 
certain  Stephen  looked  back  at  the  house  as  long  as  he  could 
see  it.  And  when  the  smoke  came  streaming  like  a  flag 
from  the  locomotive  and  the  bell  clanged  and  the  Ore- 
town  crowd  cheered,  I  cried  —  I  just  did,  I  couldn't 
help  it. 

Miss  Purchase  was  standing  in  the  doorway  when  I  turned. 
She  was  the  servant!  You  had  to  call  her  Miss  Purchase; 
she  made  you — she  wouldn't  stay  otherwise,  and  it  was  al- 
most impossible  to  get  help  out  there.  The  first  day  she 
asked  me  to  call  her  "Lady  Diana,"  but  Stephen  roared  so 
that  she  was  a  little  ashamed,  and  so  we  compromised  on 
"Miss  Purchase."  Well,  when  I  turned  round  there  she  was, 
and  she  had  been  ironing  and  had  the  iron  in  her  hand, 
bottom  side  up,  and  she  had  tears  in  her  eyes,  too.  She 
was  from  Connecticut,  and  had  come  West  to  make  her 
fortune. 

"Mis'  Kirkland,  ain't  it  grand?"  she  whispered.  "It 
seemed  's  if  I'd  bust  when  that  engine  shrieked." 

I  didn't  know  she  cared  for  anything  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  until  that  minute. 

"I  come  up  here  to  tell  you  that  I'd  stay — I  meant  I'd 
stay  on.  I  don't  keer  for  money"  she  said;  "just  give  me  a 
hundred  a  month  and  I'll  stay."  The  tears  ran  down  her 
face.  "Mr.  Kirkland's  a  real  gentleman,  a  real  tony  gen- 
tleman, and  you  do  the  best  you  kin." 

In  what  she  said  I  saw  her  heart  and  that  it  was  a  good 
one,  even  if,  like  the  rest  of  the  pioneers,  she  was  trying  to 
make  what  she  could  out  of  the  West.  She  was  very  in- 
dependent and  broad-minded,  and  when  I  answered,  "All 
right,"  she  said,  "I  mean  I'll  stay  forever,  not  just  a  month 
— forever!" 

200 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

And  she  has,  as  far  as  to-day  carries  our  forevers  along. 

Then  she  spit  on  her  finger,  and  touched  her  iron. 

"M' iron's  cold!"  she  exclaimed.  "Lawsyme!  And  I've 
left  Mr.  Kirkland's  shirt  all  sodgy,  and  I  must  skit  along 
down-stairs." 


CHAPTER   XLV 

JHEN  Fanny  went  East,  Stephen  wouldn't 
hear  of  her  working  any  more.  He  bought 
the  little  Brackettsville  house  and  lot  and  gave 
them  outright  to  Fanny,  and  a  monthly  income 
— enough  to  live  and  dress  on.  For  the  boy  he 
didn't  do  anything,  and  Ferdie  kept  on  where  he  was  and  paid 
his  share.  Fanny  hardly  said  thank  you  to  Stephen,  but  she 
accepted,  and  we  didn't  care.  I  really  believe  7  would  have 
let  her  work,  but  I'm  hard.  Work  has  never  seemed  to  me 
the  worst  of  it,  anyhow.  I  hardly  ever  heard  from  Fanny 
except  when  she  acknowledged  the  checks,  as  she  always  did, 
but  I  knew  she  was  taking  French  and  was  very  much 
thought  of  in  Brackettsville,  and  that  she  made  a  first-rate 
home  for  Ferdie.  She  never  told  me  any  of  her  plans  or 
anything  that  she  did  except  the  barest  details,  but  I  had 
letters  every  week  from  Ferdie  and  he  kept  me  posted. 

It  was  three  years  after  Judge  Baxfield  had  left  us  his 
house  when  I  got  a  letter  one  afternoon  in  the  five-o'clock 
mail.  I  was  sitting  in  the  arbor  sewing.  It  was*  in  Sep- 
tember, and  the  red  apples  hung  nearly  ripe  in  the  trees. 
Miss  Purchase  brought  the  letter  with  a  bunch  of  bills  and 
the  grocer's  book,  and  laid  them  on  the  rustic  table  by  my 
work-basket.  The  letter  was  fat  and  in  a  strange  hand,  and 
it  was  on  ship's  paper  with  a  red  flag  and  seal.  At  first  I 
thought  it  was  from  Pete,  but  he  had  no  reason  for  going 
202 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

on  a  line.     When  I  opened  it  I  saw  it  was  from  Judge  Bax- 
field,  dated  the  week  before  on  the  Britannic,  and  it  began: 

"Mv  DEAR  LADY" — [that  made  me  think  of  Mr.  Sinclair 
for  a  minute] — "It  will  be  just  three  years  from  the  time  I 
sat  with  you  in  the  arbor  of  the  old  place  when  you  get  this 
letter.  The  weather  is  fine  in  our  Western  late  Septembers, 
and  there  will  be  some  shafts  along  the  grass,  and  finer 
yellow  shafts  in  the  apple-trees.  I  know  those  trees,  one  by 
one.  I  planted  them  all.  The  creek  will  speak  as  it 
did  the  day  I  left  you  there,  and  be  the  only  voice  to  dis- 
turb your  quiet.  I  loved  the  place,  and  for  that  reason  I 
gave  it  to  you.  It  has  been  a  pride  and  satisfaction,  a 
triumph,  to  think  your  feet  walk  the  paths  I  laid  out,  and 
tread  my  stairs  and  my  rooms,  and  that  your  first  home  was 
made  by  me.  When  the  time  came  that  I  could  do  so  with- 
out too  much  lying  and  too  much  disinclination  to  be  fair  to 
her,  I  did  what  you  honored  me  by  asking,  and  married  your 
sister.  This  is  our  wedding-trip,  and  I  write  to  tell  you  of 
our  marriage.  Fanny  is  a  beautiful  woman;  she  is  your 
flesh  and  blood.  Just  above  the  line  over  the  ear,  where  the 
hair  grows  straight  and  less  curly,  there  is  a  look  of  you;  when 
I  discovered  this  I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife.  If  this  fulfil- 
ment of  your  wish  pleases  you,  brings  you  any  satisfaction  or 
content,  if  the  fact  that  your  sister's  future  is  assured  and 
protected  in  so  far  as  I  can  assure  and  protect  it,  if  this 
brings  you  any  peace,  I  am  rewarded. 

"Believe  me,  my  dear  lady, 

"Yours  faithfully,  RICHARD  BAXFIELD." 

I  held  the  letter  there  in  my  lap  for  a  while  with  my  sewing. 
The  sunlight,  as  he  said,  lay  on  the  arbor  and  on  the  apples 
203 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

and  on  his  words.  It  made  me  feel  very  deeply  and  very 
still.  I  thought  it  was  incomprehensible  that  a  man  could 
do  a  thing  like  this  and  do  it  for  me.  I  couldn't  understand 
it.  It  made  me  ashamed  to  think  of  what  I  had  taken  from 
him,  and  when  I  thought  of  Will  and  Mr.  Sinclair  I  was 
more  ashamed  than  ever.  That  night  I  told  Stephen  that 
Judge  Baxfield  had  married  Fanny,  and  they  had  gone  off 
on  their  honeymoon  to  Europe. 

"I  am  sincerely  relieved,"  he  said,  "and  sincerely  sur- 
prised. I  never  expected  Fanny  to  have  the  common  sense 
to  do  a  thing  as  genuine  as  this.  Women  like  your  sister, 
my  dear  girl,  usually  die  old  maids.  It's  women  like  your- 
self who  marry,  Esther,"  and  I  couldn't  help  asking  him, 
"Why,  Stephen  ?" 

"Why,  because  you  are  the  mothers  of  the  earth,  my  dear 
girl,  the  reasons  for  the  race,  the  excuse  for  being,  the 
hearthstone  and  the  arc." 

I  told  him  he  was  too  silly  for  any  use,  and  I  wouldn't  let 
him  go  on.  You  just  couldn't  get  a  sensible  reply  out  of 
him  when  you  wanted  it. 

"It's  because  we're  the  cooks  and  the  nurses  and  the 
slaves,"  I  couldn't  help  saying,  and  he  looked  at  me  very 
seriously : 

"  It's  because  you  are  the  ideal  women." 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

TEPHEN'S  interests  ran  through  the  district 
as  far  as  Carson  City.  He  went  there  often, 
and  east  to  New  York  several  times  on  short 
visits,  but  I  never  moved  from  Oretown  until 
we  had  been  there  four  years.  I  heard  a  great 
deal  of  O.  &  W.  N.,  and  it  was  rapidly  nearing  the  time 
when  all  you  had  to  say  to  people  was  "the  Big  N."  and 
they  knew.  It  is  a  generally  understood  thing,  I  dare  say, 
that  Stephen  bought  the  State  and  the  district  in  the  first 
election — out  there  money  did  talk  always,  no  doubt  about 
it,  but  it  has  the  same  voice  everywhere;  and  no  one  who 
had  not  watched  my  husband  as  I  had  watched  him  in  that 
crude  little  place  would  ever  know  how  just  he  was,  under- 
stood how  popular  he  was,  simply  as  a  man.  If  he  had 
been  a  poor  man  he  would  have  carried  the  polls  with  the 
way  they  cared  for  him.  From  Miss  Purchase,  who  nearly 
killed  herself  over  his  shirts,  starching  them — and  nearly 
drove  me  crazy  because  she  rough-dried  and  sent  up  my 
clothes  pretty  nearly  as  they  were  half  the  time — down  to  the 
blacksmith  at  the  outskirts  of  the  town  where  Stephen  took 
his  riding-horse  to  be  shod,  my  husband  was  a  general  fa- 
vorite. He  treated  every  one  politely,  and  often  I  have  seen 
him  standing  talking  with  the  school-mistress  or  some  simple 
woman  on  a  March  day,  the  wind  blowing  through  his  hair, 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  until  I  saw  neuralgia  on  every  hair  of  his 
205 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

head!  The  women  in  Oretown  never  had  a  chance  to  flirt 
with  him,  though,  for  on  "his  branch"  (as  he  called  Ore- 
town)  he  was  too  deeply  absorbed  to  look  at  anything  but 
law  and  politics. 

When  it  came  time  to  go  through  the  State  on  the  cam- 
paigning tours  he  went  alone,  and  sent  me  telegrams  that 
flew  over  the  wires  thick — at  first,  before  he  got  too  absorbed. 
I  used  to  gather  what  I  could  from  the  Oretown  Cry — his 
paper,  of  course,  and  crazy  about  Stephen.  He  was  run- 
ning for  Governor,  and  Oretown  was  wild  for  him;  most 
of  the  Democrats  went  over  to  his  ticket,  and  such  a  lot 
of  the  city  took  the  cars  over  to  the  capital  that  they  had 
to  run  extra  trains. 

There  wasn't  a  tale  against  my  husband  so  old  and  worm- 
eaten  but  they  raked  it  up  against  him,  and  if  I  had  had  any 
illusions  about  the  man  I  married  they  would  have  been 
pretty  well  worn  out  on  this  campaign.  Finally,  poor  Miss 
Pagee's  story  capped  off  the  lot,  and  they  told  how  she  had 
drowned  herself  to  escape  scandal,  and  it  made  me  sick — 
and  they  raked  up  his  habits  and  the  whole  thing!  Before 
the  election  I  got  a  wire  from  Stephen  telling  me  to  come  to 
Carson  City,  and  at  the  same  time  there  came  a  notice  over 
from  the  Junction  to  say  there  was  a  private  car  rolled  in 
for  Mrs.  Kirkland.  Miss  Purchase  and  I  packed  and  shut 
up  in  twelve  hours,  and  started.  The  train  had  directions 
to  take  the  branch  road.  It  was  sunset,  and  when  we  passed 
beyond  the  old  house,  Miss  Purchase  and  I  in  a  private  car, 
it  didn't  seem  as  though  it  could  be  true.  Quite  a  way  out 
we  stood  on  the  rear  and  looked  back,  and  the  sunset  shone 
on  all  the  Oretown  windows  as  red  as  fire;  but  the  blinds 
were  shut  in  Judge  Baxfield's  house,  the  windows  of  our  old 
room.  When  the  smoke  from  the  Birdsall  Button  Factory 
206 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

had  disappeared  and  Oretown  wasn't  any  bigger  than  a 
piece  of  paper  on  the  plain,  Miss  Purchase  said: 

"I've  just  about  used  up  Oretown,  Mis'  Kirkland,  ain't 
you  ?"  But  I  told  her  that  I  loved  the  house  and  the  garden. 

"It's  too  small  for  Mr.  Kirkland,  'tennyrate!"  she  said, 
and  I  understood  that  she  thought  I  wasn't  ambitious 
enough. 

"He's  risin'  to  a  wider  spere."  She  was  awfully  excited, 
her  cheeks  shone  red  as  apples  and  her  glasses  glistened,  for 
she  kept  them  spick  and  span,  like  diamonds.  "I  hope  to 
the  Lord  he'll  get  that  'lection,"  she  murmured  over  and 
over  again,  and  if  Cornelia  Purchase  could  have  taken  the 
stump,  with  her  black  bag  in  her  hands  and  her  glistening 
glasses  on  her  nose,  and  told  the  district  what  she  thought 
of  Mr.  Kirkland,  why,  she  would  have  carried  the  State! 

His  party  had  taken  a  part  of  Knight's  Hotel  for  him. 
He  didn't  meet  me  at  the  train,  but  I  found  him  in  the  hotel, 
the  room  thick  with  smoke  from  so  many  kinds  of  cigars 
that  I  couldn't  even  smell  his  Swiss  cigarettes.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  men  in  the  room,  and  the  walls  were  stuck  over 
with  campaign  labels  and  his  table  stacked  with  papers. 

Stephen,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  thrown  back, 
stood  there  in  a  group  talking,  and  I  was  awfully  excited 
myself.  It  seemed  as  if  a  bell  had  been  struck  in  me  till  I 
rang.  Ever  since  the  moment  our  train  had  put  out  from 
Oretown  I  had  been  keyed  up.  My  husband  was  the  finest- 
looking  one  of  all,  I  thought,  and  I  trembled  when  he  said: 

"Let  me  present  my  wife,  gentlemen,"  and  repeated  their 
names;  they  shook  hands  with  me,  and  I  recognized  Mr. 
Collins,  and  was  very  glad  to  see  him.  He  had  been  taking 
charge  of  all  the  western  part  of  the  State  for  Stephen.  Of 
those  men  there,  there  was  scarcely  one  who  later  didn't 
207 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

make  his  mark,  and  the  same  fire  appeared  to  run  through 
us  all  that  night. 

"Well,  my  dear  girl,"  my  husband  asked,  "how  do  you 
like  the  Big  N.  ?" — and  that  was  the  first  time  I  heard  it 
called  by  the  name  by  which  now  it  is  known  the  world  over. 

Judge  Pollock,  afterward  a  Minister  to  Portugal,  said: 
"There's  something  here  bigger  than  the  Big  N.,  Mrs.  Kirk- 
land,  and  I  don't  believe  I  need  ask  you  what  you  think  of 
him!"  And  he  put  his  hand  on  my  husband's  shoulder. 
"We're  going  to  pull  off  an  election  such  as  this  State  has 
never  seen — a  man  elected  by  the  opposition  ticket.  Half 
the  State  of  Nevada  are  voting  for  Governor  Kirkland." 
And  when  he  softly  said  those  words  something  burned  in 
my  eyes,  and  I  was  glad  to  get  away. 

Stephen  took  me  to  our  rooms.  We  had  hardly  shut  the 
door  when  he  turned  to  me  and  said: 

"Esther,  you've  seen  all  the  election  stuff,  I  dare  say,  in 
the  papers,  but  Watterson"  (that  was  the  name  of  the  man 
who  was  running  against  him  for  Governor)  "has  got  pretty 
much  the  same  kind  of  hogwash  to  contend  with.  Things 
like  this  are  all  in  the  game.  But  I  want  to  ask  you  some- 
thing. Among  other  things,  they  said"  .  .  . 

He  sat  down  in  a  big  chair,  crossed  his  legs,  and  lit  a  fresh 
cigarette.  I  took  off  my  hat  and  my  coat.  I  was  tired,  and 
wanted  more  than  anything  else  to  get  a  bath. 

"...  They  said  that  Miss  Pagee"  ...  He  paused 
after  the  name,  the  first  time  it  had  crossed  his  lips  since  our 
vacation  in  the  Adirondacks.  He  repeated  the  name,  then 
cleared  his  throat.  I  didn't  help  him. 

"There,"  he  said,  "read  this,"  and  took  out  of  his  wallet 
a  clipping.  It  showed  how  he  must  have  cared,  to  have  cut 
out  this  special  one.  "Read  that."  I  did,  and  then  put 
208 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

it  down  on  my  knee.  "Well,  you  were  there,  Esther;  you 
remember  Miss  Pagee,  don't  you  ?"  He  smoked  a  second, 
and  then  went  on:  "Well,  you  know,  too,  that  this  is  all  a 
falsehood.  I  wonder  where  she  is.  It  is  very  hard  on  the 
girl." 

I  could  scarcely  believe  my  ears  —  that  he  didn't  know; 
then  I  remembered  the  terrible  state  in  which  he  had  been, 
and  how  everything  escaped  him  but  his  own  fight  for  life 
and  for  decency  and  for  place.  Well,  he  had  them  all  now, 
very — nearly — all. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me  what  you  know,  Esther  ?"  And 
for  a  minute  I  was  tempted  to  lie  and  spare  him,  but  I  didn't, 
and  then  and  there  I  told  him  from  beginning  to  end.  It 
took  quite  a  few  minutes,  and  he  never  moved.  He  put  his 
dead  cigarette  in  a  little  ash  -  tray  belonging  to  Knight's 
Hotel,  a  spread-eagle  in  brass,  and  there  the  dead  cigarette 
lay  beside  his  silk  hat  and  his  gloves,  which  he  carried,  but 
never  would  wear  more  than  he  could  help.  I  couldn't  bear 
to  see  him  suffer.  When  I  came  to  the  end  of  my  story  I  got 
up  and  went  over  to  my  bag  and  began  quietly  to  take  out 
the  things. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before  ?"  Then  he  inter- 
rupted himself,  and  said:  "But  why  in  God's  name  should 
you  ?  This  has  been  reserved  for  an  especial  time.  Ashes 
in  the  mouth — dust  and  ashes  in  the  mouth."  He  walked 
up  and  down  several  times,  then  stood  staring  at  me  in  the 
gloomy  way  he  used  to  have  of  looking  when  the  temptation 
was  pressing  him  hard.  "I  want  you  to  understand  what 
I  say  when  I  tell  you  that  it  would  give  me  no  satisfaction 
now  to  be  elected  Governor  of  Nevada.  If  the  citizens  of  this 
State  vote  against  me  it  will  be  my  just  deserts.  It  wouldn't 
be  much  of  a  retribution;  still  it  might  be  a  commencement.' 
209 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

And  I  said  to  him:  "Stephen,  you  are  talking  about 
another  man  from  the  one  at  Paul  Smith's." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  he  asked,  sharply.  "Explain 
yourself." 

"Why,  the  man  that  rowed  out  on  the  lake  up  there  at 
Paul's  isn't  the  one  that's  running  for  Governor — this  man 
has  a  right  to  his  chance." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  rang  for  a  bell-boy;  and  when  he 
appeared  with  a  pitcher  of  ice-water  my  husband  gave 
him  the  spread-eagle  ash -receiver  with  the  half -smoked, 
black  cigarette  lying  on  it,  and  told  him  to  take  it 
away  and  bring  him  a  box  of  Henry  Clay  cigars,  and 
that  was  the  last  Swiss  cigarette  I  ever  saw  Stephen 
smoke. 

He  was  making  speeches,  then,  every  day,  and  immedi- 
ately some  one  came  and  knocked  on  the  door  and  took  him 
out  of  the  room,  and  I  saw  him  drive  off  in  a  landau  with 
Mr.  Collins  and  two  other  gentlemen.  But  I  couldn't  see 
very  well.  They  were  laughing  and  talking  together;  the 
hotel  waiters  cheered;  there  was  a  big  banner  across  the 
street  under  which  they  drove:  "Vote  for  Kirkland  and 
Congo — Clean  Politics."  And  I  saw  my  husband  look  up 
at  the  banner  as  he  drove  under  it. 

Purchase  came  in  and  helped  me  get  my  things  to  rights, 
but  she  was  so  full  of  talk  and  so  excited  that  I  sent  her 
away  as  soon  as  I  could,  and  laid  down  and  took  a  nap. 
There  was  to  be  a  dinner  at  another  hotel  for  Stephen.  I 
didn't  expect  him  home  until  late,  and  I  had  my  dinner  in 
the  room  off  a  tray,  and  sat  in  my  white  camisole  and 
skirt  until  late,  watching  the  streets  lighting  up,  listening 
to  the  extras  and  the  voices. 

It  was  after  eleven  when  Stephen  came  in,  dog-tired, 
210 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

fagged  to  death,  and  the  signs  of  exhilaration  I  had  re- 
marked had  faded  away. 

"Well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "this  is  the  irony  of  fate,  isn't 
it  ?  I  shall  carry  the  State,  there's  not  much  doubt  of  it. 
I  shall  have  a  rousing  majority,  I  dare  say — I  shall  with- 
draw my  candidature  to-morrow" 

For  a  minute  I  thought  he  had  gone  crazy  from  too 
much  brain -work;  his  voice  was  hoarse,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  me  without  seeing  me. 

"I'm  not  fit  for  the  trust  the  country  gives  me,  Esther." 
His  face  was  gloomy  as  the  grave  and  his  eyes  were  sad 
like  a  child's. 

"It's  useless  to  tell  me  other  men  have  been  in  positions 
like  this — I  don't  care :  it's  useless  to  tell  me  I'm  no  worse 
than  my  opponent — that's  his  business.  The  tragedy  of 
which  you  have  told  me  has  opened  my  eyes.  Late  as  it 
is,  I  shall  refuse  to  run!" 

I  went  up  to  him,  and  put  both  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Stephen  Kirkland,  you'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind!" 

"My  poor  Esther — ' 

But  I  cut  him  short:  "Don't  poor  me!  I'm  proud  of  you, 
every  inch  of  you.  If  ever  a  man  deserved  a  good  place, 
you  do.  How  many  men,  do  you  think,  have  fought  out 
what  you  have  fought  out  and  conquered  ?" 

He  gazed  on  me  pityingly. 

"You  are  all  right,  Stephen;  what's  past  and  gone  is  past 
and  gone.  As  for  Miss  Pagee,  she  would  be  the  last  to 
wish  you  to  ruin  your  career  to  make  up  for  her  folly." 

"Don't,"  he  murmured — "don't!" 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  taken  any  voice  in  his 
affairs  or  given  him  any  advice;  but  when  I  saw  his  career 
tottering,  shaking  on  the  verge  of  success,  I  couldn't  help 
15  211 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

it.     Senator  Bellars  seemed  once  more  to  say  to  me:    "I 
hold  you  responsible  for  his  life,  Miss  Carey." 

"I've  been  a  rake  and  a  drunkard,  Esther — all  that  if 
you  like,  but  I  have  never  been  an  impostor." 

"Rubbish,  Stephen!  Haven't  they  put  all  the  vile  things 
they  could  think  of  in  the  papers  ?  Have  you  denied  them  ?" 

"No,  not  one." 

"Well,  then,  if  the  State  elects  you  in  spite  of  that — " 

"Why,  they'd  say  I  bought  the  polls."  He  shook  my 
hand  off.  "No,  no,  this  is  a  way  to  atone  for  her  death." 

"Stephen,"  I  urged,  "think  of  your  poor  party,  of  what 
you  stand  for — of  your  friends,  and  the  shame  you'll  bring 
on  the  situation.  You  can't  go  back  now;  it's  too  late." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  would  be  a  regeneration.  They 
will  have  such  a  revival  as  will  clean  politics  from  the 
boundary  to  Texas." 

"Nonsense!"  I  answered,  harshly.  "You  don't  clean  up 
politics  by  one  man's  making  a  fool  of  himself!"  I  was 
wild.  Every  second  I  expected  him  to  ring  for  a  bell-boy, 
late  as  it  was,  and  send  some  kind  of  extravagant  message, 
and  I  could  see  that,  so  far,  I  hadn't  altered  him.  His  eyes 
seemed  to  gaze  back  years  to  Paul  Smith's,  to  that  lake,  and 
to  have  been  smitten  with  the  passing  of  a  ghost.  "You 
haven't  any  right  to  your  own  feelings,  Stephen;  you  aren't 
an  individual — you're  a  party." 

"Go  to  your  room,  my  dear  girl,"  he  begged; 
"  Esther,  for  God's  sake,  leave  me  alone.  I  ask  it  as  a 
great  favor."  He  had  gone  over  to  the  window  and  sat 
down  in  the  chair  I  had  left,  and  I  followed  him  and  knelt 
down  by  his  side  and  took  hold  of  his  hand. 

"  Stephen,  do  you  think  you  owe  more  to  that  dead  woman 
than  you  owe  to  me  ?" 

212 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"How  do  you  mean,  to  you  ?" 

"Why,  I  mean  it  will  just  plain  break  my  heart  if  you 
give  up  your  candidature." 

He  stared  at  me  as  if  he  had  made  a  discovery.  "A  heart 
to  break — Esther  has  a  heart?"  .  .  .  He  had  never  heard 
me  mention  my  personal  feelings  on  a  subject,  and  it  was  a 
counter-irritant — a  great  surprise — a  dash  of  cold  water — 
a  real  shock.  He  said,  slowly: 

"You  mean  to  say — " 

"I  mean,  Stephen,  I  am  perfectly  wrapped  up  in  your 
career" 

"Why,  I  didn't  dream  you  cared,  my  dear  girl.  I  never 
knew  you  even  took  an  interest  in  what  was  going  on — that 
is,  actively." 

"You  thought  I  was  content  to  stay  in  Brackettsville  and 
have  you  practise  law  ?  Well,  I'm  not." 

"I'm  very  much  disturbed,  Esther.  Let  me  see  my  way 
clear." 

And  I  followed  up,  "Why,  it's  not  a  man's  past  that 
counts  for  the  country,  it's  what  he  can  do."  I  had  made 
him  think  of  me.  He  was  looking  at  me  curiously,  and  the 
ghost  that  was  dogging  him  and  coming  between  him  and 
realities  drifted  away. 

"You  ambitious — you"  he  wondered,  slowly.  "You 
wrapped  up  in  my  career  ?"  He  leaned  over  and  made  me 
get  up  from  my  knees.  "You  mustn't  kneel,  Esther;  but, 
like  your  namesake,  you  haven't  pleaded  in  vain."  He 
drew  me  down  on  his  lap  and  held  me  close  to  him  for 
a  second.  There  was  a  noise  in  the  hall:  the  porters 
were  taking  up  a  drunken  politician  from  the  bar  to 
bed. 

"We  must  get  some  rest,"  he  said;  "it  will  be  a  hard  day 
213 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

to-morrow.  And  will  you  hand  me  one  of  those  Henry 
Clay  cigars,  my  dear  girl  ?" 

The  voices  outside — for  two  men  had  stopped  in  the  hall- 
way— talked  for  us,  and  I  could  guess  a  little  what  Stephen 
had  been  going  through.  I  knew  he  had  suffered  that  day 
in  Carson  City  as  he  had  gone  about  his  weary  campaign;  I 
knew  he  had  re-lived  those  days  up  there,  and  could  have 
drawn  a  picture,  as  I  could,  of  that  floating,  breezy  form, 
and  that  the  lake  must  have  struck  as  icy  a  chill  to  Stephen, 
very  nearly,  as  it  had  to  her. 

Pretty  soon  he  said  to  me,  "You're  right,  my  dear  girl; 
that's  the  highest  cruelty  and  irony  of  it — we  cant  atone; 
and  I  owe  you,  as  you  remind  me,  more  than  I  owe  to  any 
one,  and  if  to  see  me  Governor  of  Nevada  will  give  you  the 
slightest  satisfaction,  my  dear  "... 

It  made  me  think  of  Judge  Baxfield's  letter:  one  man 
married  another  woman  to  give  me  pleasure,  and  now  a 
second  man  was  going  to  be  Governor  of  a  State  for  the 
same  reason!  I  smiled,  I  couldn't  help  it,  and  I  thought, 
well,  if  it  gives  either  of  you  any  pleasure  to  think  it's  for 
my  sake — you're  welcome!  I  don't  care,  as  long  as  the 
things  get  done! 


CHAPTER   XLVII 

T  began  to  circle  out  wide  now  —  Oretown, 
near  as  it  was  to  Carson  City,  got  to  be  a 
speck,  and  we  were  far  from  it.  Carson  City 
turned  out  to  be  a  bush  for  Stephen's  ambi- 
tion to  rest  on  before  flying  higher.  Carson 
City  was  always  unreal,  and  I  never  felt  that  I  lived  there. 
I  dare  say  I  was  dazed  most  of  the  time.  My  husband  kept 
me  busy,  though;  the  house  was  full  of  callers — political 
people  and  secretaries  and  office  -  seekers,  and  what  not, 
and  Miss  Cornelia  Purchase  saved  my  life.  No  doubt  it 
was  for  the  reason  that  the  Governor's  office  was  never 
meant  to  be  permanent  for  my  husband  that  he,  himself, 
never  liked  Carson  City  and  was  sensitive  to  every  little 
annoyance.  He  never  felt  at  home  a  single  day.  There 
in  that  mansion  I  talked  to  him  enough  to  make  up 
for  the  years  I  had  been  so  silent.  He  needed  a  lot  of  plain 
common  sense  salted  down,  and  the  little  doses  I  gave  him 
were  disguised. 

I  never  pretended  to  look  after  anything  in  the  Carson 
City  house.  I  gave  up  housekeeping,  of  which  I  was  getting 
fond;  I  left  everything  to  Cornelia  Purchase,  and  she  was 
wonderful.  I  got  a  bad  name  in  the  capital:  they  said 
that  I  threw  money  out  of  the  window,  and  I  would  have 
done  so  fast  enough  if  Stephen  had  come  in  at  the  door  with 
a  certain  kind  of  look  on  his  face.  Cornelia  Purchase,  I 
215 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

am  sure,  saved  us  from  sheer  ruin  those  days,  for  there  was 
an  economical  streak  in  her  that  the  discovery  of  a  gold- 
mine under  her  feet  wouldn't  have  taken  out.  Stephen 
wouldn't  hear  of  economizing;  he  wouldn't  let  me  ask  what 
things  cost  in  his  presence.  He  had  an  idea  that  he  had  to 
have  everything  sent  out  from  New  York,  and  provisions 
came  in  car-loads  until  I  told  him  that  he  was  making  a 
very  bad  impression  on  the  State.  I  don't  think  we  ever 
sat  down  alone  to  dinner.  Everybody  passing  through 
came  to  dine  at  the  Governor's  Mansion,  and,  as  he  was 
not  a  bit  of  a  snob,  he  asked  all  kinds  of  people  and  at  all 
kinds  of  times.  So  I  told  them  to  be  ready  for  as  many  as 
the  table  would  hold  every  night.  It  cost  a  lot,  but  I'm 
glad  to  say  I  don't  know  how  much  we  spent  in  Carson 
City. 

Cornelia  Purchase  bloomed  out  into  a  housekeeper  and  a 
maid  and  a  companion.      I  took  to  sitting  in  the  up-stairs 

sitting-room  window  which  looked  down Avenue,  and  I 

could  see  Stephen  as  soon  as  he  turned  in  at  the  gate.  The 
first  word  he  said  as  they  opened  the  door  was,  "Mrs.  Kirk- 
land  at  home  ?"  I  was  never  out,  so  it  was  just  a  form. 
Then  I'd  call,  "  Coming  up-stairs  ?"  It  never  varied.  I 
don't  think  he'd  remember  it,  but  it  stands  out  to  me, 
for  in  all  that  time  I  don't  think  he  ever  came  in  like 
his  real  self — gloomy,  heavy-eyed,  and  his  head  bowed. 
He  had  been  struck  through  and  through,  in  Knight's 
Hotel  the  week  before  election,  with  death.  It  showed  how 
sensitive  he  was.  He  had  an  idea  that  politics  was  not  his 
career,  that  he  was  a  born  writer,  and  he  was  dying  to  begin 
a  new  novel  right  then  and  there.  Several  times  I  found 
his  papers  scribbled  over  with  names  of  chapters  and 
dramatis  persona,  and  so  forth;  and  at  dinner,  when  some 
216 


A     SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

one  was  waiting  for  him  to  answer  an  important  question, 
I'd  see  him  smile  in  his  vague,  quizzical  way,  and  know  that 
he  was  following  some  romantic  idea  or  the  line  of  a  poem 
which  would  never  come  out,  and  which  had  to  be  crushed 
down  as  flowers  are  when  the  harvest  reapers  go  in,  crush- 
ing down  the  grain. 

It  hurt  me,  it  made  my  heart  ache,  but  it  was  too  late 
— too  late;  there  wasn't  another  branch  like  Oretown  for  a 
poet  to  pose  on  and  fly  away  from,  and  our  circles  were  start- 
ing out  and  widening,  and  we  had  to  go  along  with  them 
toward  the  shore. 

I  couldn't  leave  Stephen  alone.  I  hardly  ever  made  any 
calls  except  on  a  keen  jump,  and  people  thought  I  was  stuck 
up  and  a  snob  (me!),  and  nervous  as  a  witch,  and  poor  com- 
pany. I  don't  wonder.  I  never  went  out  but  I  thought, 
What  if  he  should  come  home  and  I  be  gone  ? — and  when 
he  asks,  "Is  my  wife  at  home  ?"  and  they  would  say,  "No, 
your  excellency,  she's  up  street " — why,  Heaven  knows  what 
would  be  the  issue.  It  made  me  think  of  Doctor  Manette 
in  The  Tale  of  Two  Cities.  Stephen  would  have  gone  back, 
not  to  shoemaking,  but  to  making  books,  and  the  party 
and  his  office  might  have  flown  to  bits.  Once  well  out  of 
politics,  I  knew  my  husband  would  never  think  of  them 
again. 

The  "party,"  though — it  was  perfectly  splendid!  There 
were  real  men  in  that  political  set,  and  they  knew  what  they 
had  in  my  husband;  not  one  of  them  had  the  dimmest  idea, 
though,  of  his  state  of  mind.  After  his  struggles  between 
literature  and  politics  he  went  back  to  his  meetings  fresh 
— his  interest  was  so  real  in  everything,  and  his  talent  so 
great,  and  his  education  and  his  genius  made  him  wonder- 
ful when  he  did  speak — he  held  them  spell-bound.  His 
217 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

State  and  party  took  care  of  him,  and  had  all  kinds  of  ideas 
about  his  leadership  and  his  power.  And  the  Big  N.  was 
one  of  the  most  important  speculations  on  the  market. 
One  night,  when  our  dinner  company  had  gone  home  and 
my  husband  and  I  were  getting  ready  to  go  up-stairs  from  the 
parlor,  he  said: 

"You  are  a  rich  woman,  my  dear  girl.  How  does  it  feel  ?" 
And  he  went  on  to  tell  me  that  he  had  put  every  cent  of 
money  he  had  in  my  name;  that  I  was  to  pay  the  bills  and 
sign  the  checks  and  never  let  him  know  what  he  had  or 
hadn't — that  he  didn't  want  money  discussed. 

"The  only  thing  to  my  mind  that  is  interesting  about 
money,"  he  said,  "is  that  it  saves  you  from  being  a  bore 
to  your  friends,  and,  if  you  have  enough,  you  needn't  talk 
about  it.  It's  coming  in  to  us,  Esther,"  he  went  on,  "like 
the  waves  of  the  sea,  amethystine -edged,  and  if  there's 
pleasure  in  those  crests,  why,  drink  in  the  delight — it's  all 
for  you — don't  tell  me  of  money,  I  don't  want  to  be  bothered; 
only  don't  miser  up  anything.  We've  no  children." 

I  began  to  speak  of  Fanny  and  her  little  boys,  and  he  told 
me  that  Baxfield  was  in  the  Nevada  deals  and  had  no  need 
of  help  of  ours.  And  then  Stephen  said,  "I  shall  see  that 
he  buys  a  block  in  the  Wildwood  Mines." 

When  he  mentioned  Wildwood  Mines  the  word  went  all 
through  me. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  answered,  when  I  spoke  of  it,  "I  told 
you  of  them,  didn't  I  ?  They're  going  to  sell  before  long 
at  200." 

One  day,  when  I  was  alone  at  lunch,  they  brought  me  in 

the  mail,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  that  there  was  a  letter  from 

Petey,  stamped  Samoa.     He  hadn't  written  for  ages,  and  I 

was  awfully  relieved.    After  I  had  looked  at  the  stamp  and 

218 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

had  cut  it  off  for  Purchase  (who  was  collecting  for  some  one 
in  the  Old  Men's  Home  in  Boston,  "for  a  ninmate"  as  she 
called  him — I  knew  it  was  her  father,  and  she  was  ashamed 
to  say  so),  I  read  Petey's  letter.  I  read  it  many  times,  then 
I  copied  the  address,  tore  the  letter  up  and  threw  it  in  the 
waste-basket.  The  basket  was  under  Stephen's  table  in  his 
library,  a  nice,  cheerful  room,  and  I  thought,  "It's  a  queer 
piece  of  news  to  tear  up  in  a  Governor's  library."  Petey 
had  married  a  colored  woman  in  Samoa — plain  colored,  as 
far  as  I  could  gather,  for  he  never  beat  round  the  bush,  and, 
of  course,  didn't  know  how  to  soften  the  blow!  It  reminded 
me  of  the  day  at  home  when  he  told  me  about  his  debts 
and  his  drinking,  and  it  seemed  funny  to  have  saved  him 
for  this.  I  felt  perfectly  dreadful.  It  didn't  seem  as  if 
it  could  be  real.  I  decided  not  to  tell  my  husband,  for  I 
didn't  know  whether  he  would  begin  to  rave  about  "the 
azure  islands  of  the  unpeopled  seas,"  which  was  a  line  in 
one  of  his  poems,  or  whether  he  would  be  fearfully  angry. 
At  all  events,  I  was  ashamed  of  my  brother,  and  it  didn't 
seem  fair  for  the  Governor  of  a  State  to  be  uncle  to  a  nigger 
child.  I  never  got  over  it — never!  I  used  to  wake  up  and 
think :  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  me,  anyway  ? 
Something  is  wrong!  And  then  I'd  remember  that  it  was 
Petey's  negro  wife,  and  it  used  to  make  me  sick.  I  knew, 
anyway,  that  Fanny  would  be  furious,  and  that  gave  me 
some  consolation. 

That  same  year  Judge  Baxfield  replaced  the  incumbent  at 
the  court  of  Greece  and  became  Minister  to  Athens,  and 
Fanny  went  over  from  the  Riviera  to  her  new  "spere,"  as 
Miss  Purchase  called  it.  Stephen  was  crazy  over  the  photo- 
graphs of  Fanny's  little  boys,  and  he  had  me  send  those 
children  everything  you  could  imagine,  from  silver  bap- 
219 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

tismal  cups  to  little  American-made  shoes,  which  he  bought 
himself  whenever  he  saw  a  pretty  baby's  shoe  in  a  shop, 
regardless  of  size  or  color.  I  knew  Fanny's  children  never 
wore  them.  Though  the  children  were  both  boys,  they 
didn't  name  either  of  them  for  Stephen.  One  day  he  asked 
me  at  last  what  news  I  had  from  my  brother  Petey. 

"Isn't  he  coming  home,  Esther?  I  can  find  him  a  berth 
on  land  now,  if  he  wants  it." 

And  I  told  him  Petey  never  mentioned  anything  about 
coming  home. 

"Send  him  a  check,  a  good  one — don't  be  close  with  the 
boy;  send  it  with  our  regards.  Raise  Miss  Purchase's 
wages,  too." 

"Why,  she's  getting  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  now,"  I 
said.  "She'll  be  utterly  spoiled."  And  he  looked  at  me 
reproachfully. 

"You  cant  ruin  some  brands,  Esther!  Do  what  I  say; 
and  buy  yourself  some  jewels.  Go  down-town  to-morrow 
and  get  a  handsome  solitaire  diamond.  Come,"  he  said, 
laughing, "  be  a  millionaire  for  me,  and  tell  me  how  it  feels, 
my  dear  girl !" 

When  we  went  up-stairs  together  I  kept  wondering — 
wondering  about  the  Wildwood  Mines,  and  Will,  and  what 
had  happened  to  him. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

[HAT  winter  I  felt  as  if  I  had  succeeded  in 
murdering  a  helpless  child.  I  thought  I  had 
killed  Stephen's  art.  Politics  laid  hold  of 
him  with  all  their  fascination  and  all  their 
force,  and  they  have  plenty  of  both.  Mr. 
Collins  never  gave  the  Governor  any  peace — he  inspired 
Stephen.  I  saw  the  big  political  scheme  in  the  minds  of 
Stephen's  pushers  and  backers:  Nevada  wanted  my  hus- 
band in  the  Senate. 

One  bitter  cold  day  Stephen  went  to  a  directors'  meeting 

of  the  Big  N.  in ,  to  meet  Senator  Hendricks  and  Mr. 

Thompson  in  regard  to  the  Wildwood  Mines  they  were  going 
to  consider  purchasing.  He  was  likely  to  be  away  several 
days.  There  was  sleighing,  but  I  hadn't  been  out.  The  first 
day  of  his  absence  I  heard  the  ring  of  sleigh-bells  so  loud 
and  clear  that  it  gave  me  a  real  Christmasy  feeling,  and  I 
ran  to  the  window  of  the  front  sitting-room  to  look  out.  A 
cutter  with  two  horses  hung  with  bells  was  before  the  door, 
and  a  man  in  a  fur  coat  crawling  out  from  among  the  furry 
rugs.  He  threw  the  lines  to  the  boy,  who  stayed  behind  in 
the  sleigh,  and,  as  he  came  along  the  walk  to  the  porch,  7 
knew  him,  and  was  down-stairs  before  they  could  bring 
me  up  word.  They  had  shown  him  into  the  library,  and 
he  stood  there  in  his  big,  furry  coat,  his  cap  in  his  hand, 
and  the  first  thing  I  thought  was,  "How  gray  he  has 
221 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

turned!"  I  shut  the  door.  He  didn't  cry  out  as  he  used 
to  do,  or  come  forward.  Bowed  and  strained,  he  held  his 
hand  out,  and  in  mine  it  shook  like  a  drunkard's. 

"It  must  be  nearly  six  years,  Esther  Carey,  but  time 
agrees  with  you." 

I  said  how  glad  I  was  to  see  him.  But  he  was  strange  to 
me  and  changed.  His  face  had  grown  stouter,  yet  not  to 
one  of  those  quiet,  full  faces  of  contented  family  life.  He 
seemed  nervous,  worried  to  death;  it  was  unnatural,  for 
Will  had  always  been  the  easiest-going  kind  of  a  man,  with 
no  nerves  at  all.  He  threw  his  things  down  and  asked  me : 

"Do  you  think  I  can  see  you  alone — I  mean  to  say  could 
we  talk  like  this  for  a  while  without  a  thousand  infernal 
interruptions  ?  Just  for  once  in  six  years?" 

I  told  him  my  husband  was  in at  a  meeting,  and  his 

lips  curved. 

"I  know  the  Governor  has  a  board-meeting  to-day,"  he 
said.  "Big  N.  will  go  up  five  points  to-morrow." 

He  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  leaned  his  arm  up  along  the 
back,  while  I  sat  opposite.  It  was  like  having  a  character 
out  of  a  book  returned  to  life  to  see  him  again,  but  he  wasn't 
as  my  old  dreams  of  him  were — he  was  awfully  changed. 
He  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair. 

"Gray,  eh  ?  Gray  as  a  badger  ?  But  I  find  you  just  the 
same,"  and  he  said  it  still  with  a  curl  of  his  lips.  "You 
struck  the  right  man,  Esther  Carey,  after  all,  though  God 
knows  what  I  wouldn't  have  done  with  you  or  how  far  I 
might  have  gone!" 

When  I  asked,  "What  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self, Will  ?"  he  gave  a  wretched  sort  of  laugh  that  hurt  to 
hear.     Luckily  he  wasn't  looking  at  me  directly;    I  could 
see  he  was  absorbed  in  what  weighed  upon  his  mind. 
222 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

"That's  exactly  what  I've  come  to  see  you  about,"  he 
answered,  slowly.  "I've  played  fast  and  loose  with  every- 
thing that  came  my  way." 

"How  do  you  mean,  Will  ?" 

"Why,  after  I  saw  there  was  no  good  waiting  for  a  virtuous 
woman  who  loved  me  to  stand  by,  I  took  a  sudden  turn  to 
the  reckless  women."  He  nodded  gently.  "  I  won't  go  into 
that  vulgar  story.  It  isn't  your  fault — I  never  blamed  you. 
Then  I  married  again."  He  stopped  here,  and  looked,  I 
thought,  in  his  waistcoat  for  a  cigar. 

"Stephen's  cigars  are  right  here." 

And  he  flashed  out:  "Don't  you  remember  I  don't  smoke 
with  you  ?  I'm  looking  for  a  picture."  He  found  a  small 
photograph  which  he  held  tenderly  between  his  hands.  "I 
married  a  chorus-girl  from  the  Bijou.  We  had  a  little  time 
of  hell,  then  she  ran  away  with  another  lunatic  and  left  me 
— with  this."  And  Will  handed  over  to  me  the  picture  of 
a  sweet,  sweet  little  girl — little  bare  neck  and  bare  arms  and 
little  bare  feet. 

"Oh,  Will!"  I  cried— "oh,  Will!"  And  my  heart  melted 
up  and  ached  over  that  picture  with  a  pang  as  sharp  as 
a  mother  might  have  had,  I  guess.  She  had  his  face 
and  his  eyes.  I  kissed  the  picture  on  the  little  bare 
neck. 

"Beauty  Bright,"  he  murmured,  "isn  t  she,  Esther — 
Beauty  Bright  ?  Her  name  was  Esther." 

I  couldn't  speak. 

"I  kept  straight  as  a  string  for  a  long  while.  I  lived 
out  West  with  the  kid,  making  money  hand-over-fist. 
Then  she  died." 

I  knew  it.  Will  needn't  have  told  it  to  me.  I  knew  it 
from  the  minute  I  looked  at  the  sweet,  dear  little  face; 
223 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

there  was  the  Call  in  the  eyes — and  the  Answer,  too.     It 
couldn't  mean  anything  else. 

He  didn't  notice  my  silence. 

"After  that — "  He  kept  me  waiting  a  long  time,  then  of 
a  sudden  put  his  face  down  on  his  hands  and  stayed  so.  I 
went  and  sat  by  him  on  the  sofa,  and  after  a  little  he  un- 
covered his  eyes  and  I  saw  the  tears  on  his  face.  Then  he 
seized  both  my  hands  and  laid  them  against  his  wet  eyes. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  Esther.  But  go  back  and  sit  as 
you  were,  my  dear,  or  I  can't  tell  you  what  I  have  come  to 
say." 

So  I  took  my  chair  m  front  of  him  and  he  leaned  forward 
to  me,  his  hunted  look  on  me. 

"Things  are  in  a  pretty  bad  shape — pretty  serious.  I 
have  been  letting  the  whole  business  go,  and  running  the 
wagon  down-hill,  and  there's  been  a  great  smash  at  length." 

"Money?"  I  asked  him,  and  for  the  first  time  it  seemed 
to  me  that  my  money  could  be  some  real  comfort. 

"Urn!"  he  nodded,  and  drew  his  lips  in. 

"I've  got  money  of  my  own,  Will.     I'm  rich." 

Then  he  stared,  and  made  a  repelling  gesture. 

"For  God's  sake,"  he  breathed,  "I'm  not  as  low  as 
that!" 

Then  I  blushed  like  fire. 

"I  was  interested  in  the  Wildwood  Mines.  Do  you  re- 
member ?  I  made  a  lot  of  money  out  here,  and  little  by 
little  I  sold  my  holdings,  and  when  I  married  I  had  quite 
a  fortune.  She  showed  me  all  right  how  to  get  rid  of  it, 
though!  Meanwhile,  knowing  my  connection  with  Wild- 
wood  and  my  mining  experience,  several  New  York  bankers 
intrusted  me  with  big  sums  of  money  to  invest  in  Wildwood 
when  I  should  see  fit." 

224 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  had  to  say,  "Go  on,  Will— yes,  I  understand  you,"  for 
he  waited  so  long  here. 

"Well,"  he  finally  continued,  "I  had  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve, by  the  way  things  stood,  that  Wildwood  would  drop 
to  25,  and  that  I  could  buy  it  in  cheap;  I  banked  on  that, 
you  see,  and  sold  the  whole  business  short.  And  instead  of 
this,  all  the  rumor  of  the  Big  N.  interests  combining  with 
Wildwood  fired  the  market.  As  soon  as  this  got  abroad, 
and  Wall  Street  saw  that  a  certain  financial  clique  was  in- 
terested in  Wildwood,  why,  the  blamed  stock  went  up  75 
points." 

And  here  I  remembered  what  Stephen  had  said  to  me 
about  its  going  to  200  inside  a  week. 

"Of  course  I  am  personally  ruined,"  he  said,  "but  that 
doesn't  make  any  difference  one  way  or  another — only  I 
don't  want  to  go  to  jail,  Esther." 

"Will!"  I  cried  out  at  him — "Will,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

He  held  my  hands  as  if  they  were  the  ropes  by  which  he 
was  pulling  himself  to  shore  over  the  beating  sea. 

"No,"  he  repeated,  "I — don't — want — to — go — to — jail." 

"Why  should  you  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Why,  I  was  so  sure  of  the  state  of  Wildwood  that  /  put 
in  all  the  intrusted  money  when  I  sold  short,  and  I've  got 
to  make  an  accounting  of  those  funds  this  month." 

I  didn't  speak. 

There  is  something  in  the  people  you  are  fond  of  that, 
no  matter  what  they  do,  makes  you  keep  on  caring;  that's 
why  it  doesn't  seem  to  matter  to  a  woman  about  "the  ideal 
man" — the  real  ones  need  her  so  awfully  all  the  time. 

Will  didn't  make  any  wild  exclamation  or  go  into  any  dra- 
matics. He  told  me  the  tragedy  and  the  weakness  as  it  was. 

"So  you  see  how  it  stands,  Esther.  If  by  some  miracle 
225 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Wildwood  doesn't  touch  25,  as  I  thought  it  would  before  this 
deal—" 

"What's  to  be  done?"  I  asked  him.  "What  could  be 
done  about  it,  Will  ?" 

"Why,"  he  thought  out,  slowly,  "the  Governor  would 
be  the  man  to  know.  A  man  like  Governor  Kirkland,  men 
like  him  in  his  financial  set,  can  and  have  manipulated  the 
speculative  interests  in  Wall  Street  for  the  past  eighteen 
months." 

As  Will  said  this,  just  then,  he  came  into  vivid  contrast 
in  my  mind  with  my  husband,  and  the  difference  between 
the  two  stood  out  in  blinding  contrast,  while  there  Will  sat 
clinging  to  my  hands. 

"  It  seems  strange,  doesn't  it,  Esther  ?  Imagine  my  speak- 
ing to  you  of  your  husband  as  a  possible  saviour  for  me!" 

I  didn't  answer. 

"You  had  the  right  inspiration  when  you  stood  by  Kirk- 
land."  Then  he  added  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone, 
as  though  he  were  coming  out  of  a  dream,  letting  my  hands 
free:  "Understand  me,  Esther,  I  have  faced  this  out  alone 
with  a  revolver  by  my  side,  but  I  can't  kill  myself.  For  the 
sake  of  that  little  picture  I  want  to  live  on,  and  make  good, 
and  keep  out  of  jail.  A  man  who  has  been  a  father  knows 
what  I  mean.  I  had  a  child — I  am  not  a  heathen — I  believe 
in  the  next  world."  The  little  photograph  lay  in  my  lap, 
and  Will  took  it  and  held  it  as  he  had  held  my  hands,  almost 
crushing  it,  yet  so  tenderly.  "I  want  to  see  her  again,  to 
meet  my  little  girl — straight — not  with  a  prison  stench  on  me." 

"Oh,  Will,"  I  cried,  "don't,  don't!" 

"Do  you  care,  Esther,"  he  asked — "ever  so  little?" 

I  didn't  care  in  any  way  that  could  have  comforted  him, 
and  I  don't  know  what  I  answered.  Nevertheless,  he  said: 
226 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"  Bless  you,  bless  you,  you're  a  woman  such  as  men  would 
die  for."  ' 

He  put  the  picture  in  his  pocket,  and  seemed  to  straighten 
up  a  little,  and  took  his  things.  Outside,  for  the  first  time 
since  he  had  come  in,  I  heard  again  the  ringing  of  the 
sleigh-bells. 

"I  drove  over  from  the  Ural  Mines,  where  I  had 
business.  You  wouldn't  get  your  hat  and  coat,  and  muffle 
up,  would  you,  and  take  a  turn  with  me  ?" 

Nobody  in  Carson  City  knew  who  we  were  that  day.  I 
borrowed  from  Miss  Purchase  a  veil  black  as  death  itself, 
and  wound  it  round  my  face,  and  drew  a  fur  collar  up  to  my 
chin.  We  flew  through  the  upper  town  and  out  on  to  the 
driveway,  and  the  horses  went  like  mad,  and  Will  was  as 
white  as  the  snow  itself;  and  under  his  cap  and  over  his  eyes 
his  hair  was  white  with  blowing  snow.  I  sat  close  to  his 
furry  arm.  The  air  came  icy  to  our  lips.  That  ride  was 
like  a  race  toward  some  place  to  which  we  were  trying  to 
get  back — some  place  we  would  never  see  again.  I  didn't 
feel  a  bit  that  Will  was  reckless  or  would  be  glad  if  the 
horses  should  run  and  throw  us  out  and  settle  things  that 
way.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  certain  he  had  something  be- 
fore him  which  he  was  determined  to  do,  and  I  liked  him  all 
the  better  for  it.  I  thought  of  the  painting  in  the  Metro- 
politan Gallery  that  he  had  shown  me — the  soldier  coming 
home  from  the  war,  bleeding  and  weak;  and  the  sad  part 
was  that  there  was  no  woman  belonging  to  Will  to  take  him 
in  and  nurse  his  wounds. 

Will  had  told  his  boy  to  meet  him  at  Knight's  Hotel,  and 
I  got  out  below  and  walked  home.     I  left  Will  Falsworth  in 
a  side-street,  holding  out  his  hand  bidding  me  good-bye. 
16 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

Y  husband's  meeting  called  to  discuss  the 
buying  of  the  Wildwood  Mines  was  on  for  the 
following  day.  I  got  Miss  Purchase  to  tele- 
graph out  of  a  clear  sky,  "Come  home  at 
once."  It  was  the  most  daring  thing  I  had 
ever  done.  He  should  have  arrived  at  midnight.  I  sat 
in  his  library  reading,  and  on  every  page  I  kept  seeing 
that  dear  little  face  of  Will  Falsworth's  child.  I  hadn't 
planned  out  anything  to  say  to  Stephen,  and  I  didn't 
know  what  to  begin  with  in  order  to  excuse  my  summons 
to  him,  and  I  never  asked  myself  what  such  a  peremptory 
message  might  mean  or  how  frightened  he  might  be. 
I  had  them  make  a  fire  and  leave  a  big  scuttle  of  coal, 
and  I  sent  Cornelia  Purchase  to  bed.  I  was  nervous, 
and  as  I  sat  there  listening  to  the  coals  drop  down  and 
the  clock  tick,  I  seemed  to  see  the  face  of  Will's  child 
in  the  radiance  of  the  fire.  I  thought  of  Will  and  what  the 
years  had  done  to  him,  but  nothing  was  real  to  me,  and  I 
couldn't  hold  on  to  any  thoughts  that  made  Will  real.  I 
couldn't  make  myself  follow  along  with  his  struggle  and  his 
failure,  but  when  the  idea  of  the  child  came — why,  I 
just  knelt  down  by  its  side!  Then  and  there  I  knew  that  I 
was  fond  of  children.  The  rest  of  the  time  I  thought  of 
Stephen — I  could  make  him  real  enough! — the  room  where 
I  waited  for  him  to  come  home  every  day  was  full  of  him: 
228 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

boxes  of  Henry  Clay  cigars,  his  books,  and  a  pile  of  un- 
opened Washington  papers.  We  took  every  paper  out,  I 
used  to  say,  and  there  was  a  copy  of  the  Forum  with  an 
article  about  "The  Governor  of  Nevada."  Well,  it  had 
been  all  I  could  do  to  make  him  take  the  Governor's  chair 
and  stick  to  it,  and  the  more  I  thought  of  how  important  he 
was  the  wilder  my  telegram  seemed.  Stephen  certainly 
would  think  that  the  house  had  burned  down  or  that  I  was 
dead.  I  wished  that  I  could  be  really  ill,  but  I  couldn't  even 
scare  up  a  headache,  though  my  nerves  were  excuse  enough, 
goodness  knows! 

At  midnight,  when  I  heard  the  sleigh  drive  up,  I  looked 
out  between  the  shades  and  the  window  and  saw  Stephen 
arrive,  bundled  up  as  Will  had  been.  He  stopped  to  speak 
to  Sullivan,  the  man — to  get  a  match  from  him,  and  stood 
to  light  his  cigar  outside.  That  act  cheered  me  and  made 
me  a  little  mad  as  well.  I  argued  he  couldn't  be  frightened 
and  light  a  cigar,  though  I  knew,  of  course,  Sullivan 
at  the  station  must  have  told  him  I  wasn't  dead. 

He  came  slowly  up  the  walk,  big  and  dark  in  his  long  coat, 
and  our  furnace-man  let  him  in. 

"Well,"  I  called  from  the  top  of  the  stairs,  "coming  up  ?" 

And  when  he  had  reached  the  sitting-room,  and  I  saw 
how  big  he  was,  how  quiet,  and  how  distinguished  in  the 
astrachan-lined  coat,  and  his  dark,  sleek  head,  and  his  big, 
dark  eyes  above  the  fur  collar,  /  was  proud  of  him  down  to 
the  ground!  He  smiled  at  me  peacefully. 

"Good-evening,  my  dear  girl."  He  took  off  his  coat  and 
gloves.  "I  expect  Ferguson  will  lock  up  all  right,  won't 
he  ?"  And  I  said  of  course,  and  how  early  the  train  was 
— it  wasn't  due  for  half  an  hour. 

"I  took  a  special  engine,"  he  replied,  calmly;  "that's  the 
229 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

reason.  I'm  frozen.  What  an  infernal  climate.  I  don't 
believe  the  United  States  was  ever  meant  to  be  inhab- 
ited! Esther,  what  have  you  got  for  me  to  eat?  I 
never  come  in  from  any  place,  my  dear,  but  I'm  grateful 
for  a  home.  Wouldn't  you  call  me  distinctly  a  domestic 
animal  ?" 

Ferguson  brought  up  a  tray  that  Miss  Purchase  had  fixed. 
— cold  bird  and  salad.  When  he  had  eaten,  and  drunk  two 
bottles  of  ginger-ale,  he  began : 

"The  boys  sent  a  delegate  to  meet  me.  There 
isn't  a  finer  set  of  men  in  the  West  than  the  political  party 
behind  Collins  and  the  others."  Across  the  tray  he  put  out 
his  slender  hand  to  me.  "Shake  hands  with  Senator  Kirk- 
land,  Esther!  I  told  you  when  we  were  in  Washington  that 
I  should  return,  and  in  what  way  I  was  willing  to  do  so. 
How  will  it  please  you  ?" 

He  went  on  to  give  me  further  details  of  the  cam- 
paign. He  was  to  resign  his  governorship  and  enter  the 
United  States  Senate  at  the  next  election.  He  sat  back 
in  his  chair,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  stretched 
out  his  legs.  He  seemed  ten  feet  long,  so  thin  and  slen- 
der. 

"One  thing  annoyed  me,  Esther — the  Wildwood  Mines 
deal."  He  smoked  a  few  minutes,  and  continued:  "Hen- 
dricks  and  Thompson,  Rose  and  the  rest  of  them,  have  set 
their  minds  on  this  special  purchase,  and  I  have  let  my- 
self be  influenced,  partly  from  indifference,  partly  because 
I  have  never  felt  myself  to  be  a  fixture  in  Nevada,  and  I 
have  been  bored  and  let  things  drift;  but  I  am  averse  to 
this  purchase  and  the  floating  of  the  company." 

"Why,  Stephen?     Isn't  it  a  good  thing?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  shortly,  "not  as  it  stands.  The  out- 
230 


A   SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

put  of  the  Wildwood  Mines  in  no  wise  justifies  the  scheme 
on  foot." 

"Then  they  held  the  meeting?"  I  asked. 

"It  was  to  have  been  held  after  dinner  to-night,  but  the 
boys  took  this  occasion  to  buttonhole  me  and  pin  me 
down.  They  made  me  give  my  word  to  run  for  the 
Senate." 

He  knocked  his  ashes  off  against  the  chair  on  the  carpet — • 
he  never  broke  that  habit,  anyway.  "There  is  only  one 
way  to  make  the  Wildwood  Mines  a  success,"  he  said,  "and 
that  is  to  reorganize  from  A  to  Z,  buy  in  the  adjoining  tracts, 
form  a  new  company  under  a  different  name,  and  float  the 
stock  at  par." 

"Well,"  I  asked,  "they'll  do  what  you  say,  won't  they  ?" 

"Not  by  a  jugful,"  he  laughed.  "Rose  and  Hendricks 
don't  half  think  me  the  man  my  backers  and  you  think  me, 
Esther.  They're  worth  a  hundred  times  as  much  money  as 
I  am,  and  they  are  years  older,  and  have  back  of  them  all 
the  experience  I  am  to  gain." 

"Not  one  of  them  has  the  talent  you  have,  Stephen." 

He  bowed  his  thanks,  and  answered:  "Well,  they  are 
wrong  about  Wildwood,  at  any  rate."  And  he  took  up 
the  Washington  Post  and  ripped  off  the  band.  Now,  I 
thought,  if  he  goes  to  reading!  For  when  he  did  read  it  was 
as  bad  as  anything  else — you  couldn't  get  him  away  from 
the  book  or  the  article.  However,  he  only  opened  the  paper 
and  laid  it  down  on  his  knee.  "You  know  what  a  weak 
coward  I  am,  Esther,  in  many  ways,  don't  you  ?  I  assure  you 
I  have  dreaded  to-morrow's  committee  meeting.  I  had  gone 
so  far  I  couldn't  very  well  have  dropped  out,  but  I  am  con- 
fident now  I  should  have  made  the  mistake  of  my  life.  I've 
no  time  to  attend  to  new  financial  schemes,  to  begin  with, 
231 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

and  I  shall  need  all  my  force  and  energy  for  this  election. 
As  for  Wildwood,  it  isn't  worth  it — it  isn't  worth  it." 

Once  again  I  asked  him  if  he  had  no  faith  in  it  at  all,  and 
he  answered:  "The  stock  was  down  to  25  before  we  stirred 
up  the  country,  and,  at  any  rate,  for  the  present  I  honestly 
think  25  is  all  the  stuff  is  worth.  The  present  rise  is  purely 
fictitious."  He  was  now  behind  the  newspaper;  it  was 
like  winding  out  of  a  labyrinth  to  listen  and  discover  what 
I  needed  to  know. 

"Have  you  said  all  this  to  any  one  else,  Stephen  ?" 

"What  ?"  he  answered,  absently.     "Said  what,  pray  ?" 

"That  Wildwood  isn't  worth  over  twenty-five  dollars  a 
share  ?" 

"Under  the  circumstances — hardly." 

"It  might  get  into  the  papers,  Stephen." 

"I'm  sure  it's  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  me 
whether  it  does  or  does  not."  He  laid  the  paper  down. 
"I  should  have  tried  to  infect  the  meeting  to-morrow  with 
my  ideas,  but  it  would  have  been  in  vain,  for  when  Rose 
gets  an  idea  about  making  money  it's  like  a  dog  on  the 
scent — you  have  to  let  him  go  for  it  or  ruin  his  breed.  I  was 
never  so  glad  in  my  life,  my  dear  girl,  as  when  your  telegram 
came.  I  sent  a  chap  running  over  to  the  station  to  order  a 
special  put  on.  It  was  Providence.  By-the-way,  why  did 
you  send  it  ?" 

"Then  there  was  surely  to  have  been  a  meeting  to- 
morrow ?" 

"It's  put  off  now  until  next  week,  at  any  rate,"  he  said, 
"as  I  couldn't  tell  what  my  news  from  home  might  be,  and 
I  was  unable  to  promise  them  anything.  But  now  that  your 
despatch  has  given  me  time,  and  I  have  accepted  the  nomi- 
nation, I  shall  definitely  get  out  of  the  Wildwood." 
232 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"But  if  this  is  generally  known,  Stephen,  and  published 
about,  won't  it  be  bad  for  the  stock  ?" 

"Bad!"  he  exclaimed,  irritably.  "But  I've  been  telling 
you,  my  dear  Esther,  I  think  the  stock  isn't  worth  the  paper 
it's  written  on!" 

"Well,  will  it  do  you  any  harm  to  have  it  publicly  known 
that  you  withdraw  from  the  purchase  ?" 

"No,"  he  reflected,  slowly,  "I'm  inclined  to  think  that, 
under  the  circumstances,  it  would  do  me  good.  But,"  he 
added,  "you  haven't  told  me  what  was  the  matter.  Why 
did  you  send  for  me  ?" 

I  just  looked  at  him. 

"Sullivan  told  me  at  the  station  there  wasn't  anything 
the  matter  that  he  knew  of.  What  has  happened  ?" 

"Did  I  frighten  you  ?" 

"For  the  moment,  yes.  Then  I  knew  you  so  well  that  I 
argued,  'If  Esther's  ///  she'd  say  so!'  And  I  decided  that 
you  had  thought,  for  some  reason  or  other,  that  it  was  for 
my  best  interests  to  be  at  home.  Now,  what  was  it  ?" 

"Why,"  I  answered  him,  "I  had  a  sort  of  feeling  about 
the  Wildwood  Mines." 

My  husband  was  so  honorable,  so  clear-minded,  that  he 
absolutely  believed  me,  and  exclaimed,  with  interest: 

"Why,  how  very  curious,  Esther!  How  curious!  I 
never  knew  you  were  superstitious." 

I  felt  perfectly  dreadful,  like  a  traitor,  like  a  thief.  And 
I  asked  him  again  to  assure  me  that  it  would  do  him  no 
harm  if  it  were  known  that  he  felt  as  he  did  about  the  deal, 
and  he  said: 

"Since  this  thing  has  gone  so  far  now,  and  I  have  said  so 
much  to  you,  I'll  go  on  to  say  that  this  is  the  last  financial 
deal  that  I  shall  ever  touch  with  Rose  and  Hendricks.  I 
233 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

saw  Hendricks  just  as  I  was  leaving and  told  him  in 

a  few  words  my  opinion  of  the  Wildwood  affair,  and  he 
laughed;  he  doesn't  agree  with  me,  of  course." 

As  we  went  up-stairs  to  our  rooms  together  my  husband 
said:  "Two  great  tragedies  of  history  might  have  been 
avoided,  you  know,  if  Caesar  and  Pontius  Pilate  had  re- 
spected their  wives'  superstitions." 

And  I  thought  to  myself:  "He  doesn't  dream  what 
tragedy  has  been  avoided." 

Stephen's  opinion  of  the  Wildwood  Mines  got  into  the 
papers  in  a  plain  statement.  No  one  ever  knew  how  the 
note  crept  in,  and  the  Oretown  Cry  puffed  him  up  about  it, 
and  they  say  it  did  make  a  difference  in  the  feeling  of  the 
State  toward  him.  It  came  out  about  the  time  of  his  nomina- 
tion, and  from  then  on  Rose  and  Hendricks  were  his  mortal 
enemies.  They  worked  for  all  they  were  worth  against  his 
nomination,  but  he  went  into  Congress  with  an  overwhelm- 
ing vote  and  much  good-will — but  he  went  in  with  enemies. 

Some  day,  I  thought,  I'll  tell  him.  He  didn't  need  the 
millions  that  were  made  and  lost  in  the  Wildwood  specula- 
tion. After  the  reports  in  the  papers  the  stock  fell  below 
25,  and  whether  or  not  it  touched  its  legitimate  level  I  do 
not  know — but  I  do  know  that  one  man  who  had  sold  short 
was  satisfied,  and  that  he  paid  back  what  he  owed. 


CHAPTER   L 

[ROM  then  on  we  seemed  to  have  been  car- 
ried along,  lifted  up — and  picked  up — and  set 
down:  and  when  the  first  more  quiet  times 
i  came,  months  afterward,  when  I  could  breathe, 
i  the  repose  of  success  went  straight  through  me, 
right  down  to  my  boots.  Speaking  of  boots,  I  could  take 
pleasure  in  mine  now.  Shoes  were  my  great  extravagance. 
I  had  lots  of  slippers  and  shoes,  and  on  a  day  I  specially 
remember  I  had  on  kid  slippers  with  high  heels  and  buckles, 
and  I  wore  silk  stockings,  open  work,  thin  as  a  cloud.  Fanny 
brought  me  back  lots  from  Paris.  This  day  her  children  were 
playing  on  the  floor  of  my  bedroom.  They  had  a  French 
nurse  and  spoke  broken  French.  Fanny  was  out  making 
calls  in  our  carriage.  She  had  arrived  from  Greece  the  day 
before,  to  stay  a  few  weeks  in  Washington  with  the  chil- 
dren; the  Ambassador  had  remained  behind  in  Athens. 

Our  house  on Street  doesn't  need  me  to  describe  it. 

It  was  like  a  wonderful  book-cover,  waiting  for  the  new 
volume  to  be  slipped  in  while  the  Administration  read  the 
book  through.  Our  personal  history  slipped  in  with  the 
last  Administration,  and  a  lot  of  brilliant  people  came  in 
with  the  new  President.  It  isn't  good  taste,  perhaps,  to 
say  what  Stephen  was  among  them  or  how  he  towered;  he 
won  hearts  and  held  men's  minds  even  in  this  moment  of 
stress  and  mental  tension,  and  he  passed  through  the  Senate 
235 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

like  a  flame.  The  records  tell  about  it,  and  lots  of  people 
have  said  he  was  the  most  brilliant  speaker  since  Webster. 
We  took  the  house  just  as  it  was  from  the  Sheratons,  Eng- 
lish people  who  had  come  to  see  a  Washington  season — and 
they  saw  it!  Lord  Sheraton  got  mixed  up  with  the  Trust 
fusses  and  was  ruined,  and  he  left  his  beautiful  things,  and 
we  took  the  place  as  it  stood.  It  had  been  the  Roxburgs' 
house  before,  but  it  was  richer  and  mellower  now,  and  more 
subdued.  The  day  I  walked  up  the  steps  and  in  for  the 
first  time  to  my  house  I  grew  faint,  and  the  Roxburg  dinner- 
company  confusion  came  back,  and  Mrs.  Roxburg,  big  and 
handsome,  and  me  in  my  Worth  gown,  were  vivid  once 
again.  I  have  worn  Worth  gowns  since  in  that  house,  but 
never  such  a  pretty  one  as  that  first  dress.  There  had  been 
a  glamour  over  it,  and  the  light  never  died.  I  had  it  on 
in  the  bedroom  in  M  Street  when  I  called  my  husband 
"Stephen"  for  the  first  time. 

Fanny  was  prettier  than  ever,  with  a  fast  prettiness,  and 
she  knew  it — she  said  herself  her  eyes  and  her  hair  were 
"fast."  But  she  was  a  charming  woman,  and  did  credit  to 
her  position.  She  had  grown  foreign,  and  talked  in  a 
foreign  voice,  like  Miss  Pagee,  only  more  so,  and  put  red 
on  her  lips  and  dark  on  her  eyes,  and  laughed  up  high  and 
flashed  her  rings,  and  manicured  all  the  time.  I  told  her 
I  didn't  see  how  she  could  help  making  her  nails  sore. 
Her  rooms — we  gave  them  the  upper  floor — were  full  of 
pictures  of  foreign  personages — kings  and  queens  and 
princes.  The  eldest  boy  was  named  after  the  Crown  Prince 
of  Greece.  It  never  seemed  to  do  him  any  good,  though,  for 
his  godfather  only  gave  him  a  signed  photograph  on  the 
day  of  his  christening.  In  her  sitting-room  were  little  lace 
pillows  everywhere  on  the  chairs  and  sofa,  and  she  had 
236 


A   SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

flowers  sent  in  daily  for  her  vases.  She  never  let  her  little 
boys  play  in  her  sitting-room,  so  I  could  have  them  all  I 
liked. 

"Esther,"  she  said  on  this  special  day  that  I  remember, 
"come  into  my  boudoir  with  me,  won't  you,  and  let  Felicite 
take  the  children.  You'll  spoil  my  rules.  Foreign  children 
aren't  in  the  least  around  as  we  used  to  be." 

"Well,  Fanny,"  I  said,  "I  don't  know  what  they  would 
have  done  with  us  if  we  hadn't  been  'around';  there  wasn't 
anywhere  else." 

"  Brackettsville  again!"  she  cried.  "Can't  you  let  the  old, 
dreary  horrors  be  ?  Heaven  knows  we've  got  enough  else 
to  talk  about,  Esther." 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "there  are  fifteen  servants'  wages 
due  to-day,  and  I've  got  to  write  the  checks." 

She  told  me  that  I  should  have  a  secretary  to  begin  with. 
She  had  on  a  beautiful  dressing-gown,  like  an  evening-dress, 
and  among  her  pillows  she  looked  like  a  princess  herself. 

"My  poor  Esther,"  she  murmured,  "how  will  you  ever 
pull  this  thing  off?  I  mean,"  she  explained,  "how  will  you 
carry  your  husband  and  the  social  part  of  his  career  ?  You 
don't  know,  you  don't  realize,  what  a  fearful  responsibility — " 

"That's  what  Senator  Bellars  told  me  years  ago,  Fanny." 

"You've  improved  immensely,"  she  conceded.  "I  didn't 
know  you  at  all  at  the  station. ,  Your  clothes  can  be  man- 
aged." .  .  .  She  was  awfully  serious.  .  .  .  "You  don't 
mind  my  saying  these  things,  do  you,  Esther  ?"  I  assured 
her  that  I  did  not,  and  that  I  knew  she  had  learned  a  great 
deal  about  things  abroad,  and  I  looked  round  the  room. 

"I  suppose  these"  I  said,  meaning  the  signed  photo- 
graphs, "went  with  your  duties  at  the  Embassy?" 

She  looked  a  little  annoyed. 
237 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"I've  had  a  wonderful  time  everywhere.  You  must  get 
a  secretary  first  of  all,  and  a  maid."  She  waited. 

"Well,  Fanny,"  I  answered,  "I  never  knew  a  time  when 
there  weren't  a  lot  of  applicants  for  both  those  situations. 
As  for  a  secretary,  I'd  like  one,  but  if  a  maid  came  Purchase 
would  tear  her  eyes  out." 

"And  you  should  have  your  hair  done  every  day  until  you 
get  it  into  training." 

"It  will  never  be  like  yours,  Fanny." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  admitted,  "  but  it  will  be  conventional, 
at  any  rate." 

"I  wont  dye  my  hair,"  I  said,  firmly,  "not  if  Stephen 
has  to  leave  the  Senate!"  And  she  laughed. 

"Who  wants  you  to  ?     You'll  have  it  curled,  won't  you  ?" 

And  I  said  yes,  but  that  I'd  rather  do  it  up  in  papers 
and  pinch  it  myself. 

"You'll  have  to  give  dinners  and  lunches  and  call  every- 
where and  be  up  on  everything,  and  have  more  manner, 
Esther — can't  you  ?" 

I  said  no,  I  was  afraid  I  couldn't;  I  would  have  to  stay  the 
way  I  was. 

"It's  too  bad,"  she  said,  and  seemed  deeply  disappointed, 
"because  you  are  not  dull,  you  know."  Then  she  gave  me 
up,  right  then  and  there,  because  some  one  brought  in  a 
note  which  she  read  like  lightning  and  re-read  again,  and 
jumped  up  to  answer  while  the  man  waited.  It  took  her 
ten  minutes.  She  rang  for  her  maid  and  said  she  would 
have  to  dress,  that  a  friend  from  Rome  was  in  Washington, 
that  he  had  just  sent  round  to  say  that  he  would  be  over  in 
an  hour,  and  as  far  as  my  social  struggle  was  concerned, 
Fanny  gave  me  up.  As  far  as  elegance  and  manners  went, 
I  had  to  work  them  out  for  myself;  she  never  bothered 
238 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

about  me  again.  Many  times  there  were  questions  I  would 
have  been  really  glad  to  ask  her,  for  she  had  learned  a  lot 
abroad,  but  she  was  too  busy  from  then  on.  She  had  her 
own  set  and  her  own  friends,  and  Count  di  Falleri  was  one 
of  them.  That  first  afternoon  he  called  he  stayed  two 
hours.  The  hair-dresser  came  that  afternoon  and  I  had  my 
hair  done  by  him,  and  every  separate  pin  stuck  in  me  like 
a  live  wire,  and  my  cheeks  were  hot  from  the  nervous  strain 
of  it. 

I  was  ashamed  to  come  down-stairs  as  I  was,  but  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  do  exactly  as  Fanny  had  said,  and  look  the 
best  I  could  for  my  position.  She  had  asked  the  Count  di 
Falleri  for  dinner,  and  there  were  two  friends  of  Stephen's — 
Mr.  Collins  and  a  man  from  Nevada.  I  came  into  the 
drawing-room  a  few  minutes  before  dinner,  and  Stephen 
stared  at  me.  He  hadn't  seen  me  before.  He  came  over 
to  me  quickly,  and  under  his  breath  he  said: 

"For  God's  sake,  what  has  happened  to  you,  my  dear 
girl  ?" 

"I  guess  it's  my  hair,  Stephen.     Don't  you  like  it?" 

He  made  a  queer  sound  in  his  throat.  "Go  up-stairs," 
he  whispered,  "and  take  that  horror  off  your  head.  We'll 
go  in,  and  you  come  down  when  you  are  ready." 

The  horror  was  my  own  hair!  I  was  never  so  glad  of  any- 
thing as  to  get  those  pins  out.  Nobody  noticed  anything 
but  Stephen,  and  afterward  he  said  to  me: 

"Remember,  Esther,  I  never  want  you  to  change  one  iota 
of  your  looks  or  yourself.  Buy  all  the  clothes  and  jewels 
you  want.  I  like  to  have  you  spend  money.  Leave  your 
face  and  your  hair  alone." 

It  was  a  great  relief. 

"But  Fanny — "  I  began.     And  he  interrupted  me: 
239 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"She  is  a  different  piece  of  goods,  my  dear  girl.  I  cut  the 
cloth  off  the  Carey  bale  where  I  chose!  There  isn't  an 
artificial  crimp  or  a  mouche  that  doesn't  enhance  the  beauty 
of  certain  women.  Your  sister  belongs  to  the  eighteenth 
century;  she's  a  bit  of  exquisite  prettiness.  You  are  ele- 
mental. You  re  the  best  in  the  world  as  you  are.  Stay  so." 

I  was  very  much  pleased. 

I  thought  of  this  many  times — many  times;  and  took  what 
pleasure  I  could  out  of  it  when  the  beautiful  women  he 
admired  and  the  brilliant  women  who  hung  upon  his  words 
and  the  fascinating  women  who  magnetized  him,  sat  at  our 
table  and  had  him  at  theirs.  I  thought  about  these  words 
when  he  came  in  late  and  when  he  didn't  come  home  at  all, 
and  when  Fanny  and  Count  di  Fallen  were  out  together,  and 
I  was  alone  and  could  have  the  children  as  much  as  I  liked. 


CHAPTER   LI 

HAT  first  year  in  Washington  there  was  a 
long  session  of  the  Senate,  and,  although 
Stephen  was  new  and  from  one  of  the  most 
western  States,  still  he  at  once  began  to  attract 
to  him  the  attention  of  his  party,  of  his  con- 
temporaries, and  his  constituents  all  seemed  to  feel  that  their 
affairs  were  in  the  right  hands.  I  wondered,  the  first  day 
that  I  heard  my  husband  speak,  how  his  uncle  felt,  for 
Senator  Bellars,  the  other  representative  of  Nevada,  sat 
there  looking  at  my  husband,  and  I  could  see  them  both 
from  the  Members'  Gallery,  where  I  had  taken  my  place. 

About  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  I  was  in  the  drawing- 
room  with  the  children  when  the  butler  announced  Senator 
Bellars.  He  came  across  the  room  fast — came  like  a  friend 
who  has  been  a  long  time  away,  and  is  glad  to  get  home  and 
see  you.  Before  he  reached  me  he  caught  sight  of  Fanny's 
little  boys,  who  were  just  big  enough  to  walk  about — there 
was  only  fifteen  months  difference  between  them. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  he  cried.  "Children?"  and  sort 
of  stooped  down. 

I  shook  my  head.  "Not  ours — they're  my  sister's  little 
boys." 

He  held  his  hand  out  to  me  over  them,  and  his  face  was 
perfectly  wonderful,  like  a  rugged  cliff  with  a  light  shining 
on  it  suddenly,  as  if  the  thought  of  Stephen's  children  had 
241 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

cast  a  glory  over  our  meeting;  just  that  idea  of  the  race  going 
on,  the  look  that  only  life  can  bring. 

"I've  come  to  thank  you,  Mrs.  Stephen  Kirkland,  not  to 
beg  your  pardon."  He  glared  at  me  as  he  used  to  do,  and 
I  was  nearly  ready  for  him  to  begin  to  dictate  when  he  said, 
shaking  his  fine  head: 

"She  doesn't  know  it  —  doesn't  dream  it.  I  thought 
to-day,  when  I  listened  to  your  husband  speak,  'My  God, 
Joes  she  know  ?'  But  of  course  you  don't.  Well,  if 
you  had  the  kind  of  a  mind  that  could  for  a  moment  be 
vain,  the  man  I  heard  speak  in  the  Senate  would  be 
dumb  to-day." 

He  didn't  drop  my  hands;  he  held  them  as  though  they 
were  precious. 

"You've  changed  a  vast  deal,  Mrs.  Kirkland;  there's  no 
doubt  about  it.  When  I  first  saw  you,  you  were  such  a 
demure,  meek  little  thing,  such  a  dove-like  creature."  He 
laid  his  hand  on  my  hair  as  a  father  might,  and  it  made  my 
heart  beat.  "You're  the  same  gentle  creature,  honest,  con- 
fident, patient;  there's  the  same  beauty  there,  but  it's 
deeper."  He  bent  and  kissed  me  quite  solemnly.  "There," 
he  said,  "Esther,  I've  made  you  cry.  I  believe  you  don't 
do  that  often." 

"You've  a  great  position  to  fill  here,"  he  said,  after  we 
had  talked  quite  a  while,  and  he  said  this  differently  from 
my  sister — as  though  he  thought  perhaps  I  could  fill  it. 
"Stephen's  fortune,  his  position,  will  make  him  one  of  the 
men  of  the  moment  if  he  chooses.  Your  house  will  be  full, 
and  your  heart  and  mind  too.  It  will  be  a  great  experience." 

I  asked  him  to  advise  me,  and  he  said: 

"  Be  yourself.  I  can  tell  you  some  people  to  avoid  and 
some  to  seek;  but  I  know  only  one  woman  in  Washington 
242 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

who  is  worthy  to  be  your  friend,  your  intimate  friend,  and 
she  may  be  of  service  to  you — Mrs.  Sidney  Tempest;  her 
husband  is  Speaker  of  the  House.  I'll  send  her  to  see  you 
to-morrow,"  and  he  rose.  He  wouldn't  wait  for  Stephen, 
and  I  didn't  urge  him.  I  understood  how  he  felt.  Stephen 
should  go  to  see  him  now;  he  had  done  his  part  in  coming 
to  tell  me  we  were  friends. 
17 


CHAPTER   LII 

HE  whirl  of  it  all  went  round  me  like  a  storm 
— things  I  must  do,  things  I  mustn't;  what 
would  be  good  for  Stephen  and  what  wouldn't 
be;  and  in  a  little  room  upstairs — you  couldn't 
call  it  a  boudoir;  there  were  no  signed 
photographs — I  used  to  shut  myself  and  think  of  it,  and 
there  the  wind  would  calm  down.  My  husband  loved  the 
social  life,  that  I  could  see.  And  he  developed  on  every 
side,  and  he  was  fast  developing  into  the  sort  of  man  that 
it  would  be  difficult  for  a  woman  to  keep  up  with. 

I  had  a  secretary,  and  I  chose  a  man,  a  Mr.  Van  Buren, 
who  came  to  solicit  a  place  from  Stephen,  and  I  said,  "Let 
me  have  him."  He  was  a  kind,  calm,  peaceful,  brow- 
beaten sort  of  a  man.  I  always  thought  he  had  a  history,  but 
I  didn't  have  time  to  find  it  out.  He  came  from  a  decayed 
New  York  family.  He  had  written  books  on  etiquette,  and 
did  the  blue  books  and  the  red  books  for  Tiffany,  and  such 
things  as  that.  I  grew  almost  fond  of  him,  and  so  did 
Cornelia  Purchase. 

In  the  flurry  my  clothes  came  out  pretty  well.     As  soon 
as  I  saw  that  Fanny  was  too  busy  to  be  of  any  use,  I  we 
back  to  the  place  where  Mrs.  Margrette  had  bought 
Worth  gown.     I  put  myself  in  their  hands;    it  used  posi- 
tively to  hurt  me  to  spend  money  the  way  I  did.     I  couldn't 
make  it  seem  right — I  wasn't  used  to  it.     But  I  didn't  dare 
speak  to  Stephen.     As  for  putting  by  for  rainy  days,  well, 
244 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

it  was  the  green-lined-cotton-umbrella  time  and  the  sun- 
shade time,  and  I  put  mine  up  and  just  kept  in  the  glare! 
Stephen  had  his  Directors'  Board  and  his  financial  interests 
and  his  politics,  and  he  was  never  ruffled  or  disturbed.  He 
was  perfectly  charming  and  distinguished  and  calm.  Things 
in  a  way  couldn't  have  been  any  harder  for  any  man  than 
they  were  for  him,  or  more  easy  as  well.  About  this  time  I 
heard  the  expression  "temperament"  used.  I  found  that 
it  explained  a  lot  and  was  a  sort  of  cloak  to  cover  a  multi- 
tude of  things  that  in  old  times  we'd  just  have  called  plain 
wrong.  He  liked  open  house  and  sudden  entertaining;  and* 
as  I  had  done  in  Carson  City,  I  told  Mr.  Van  Buren  to  see 
that  the  table  was  always  ready  for  from  eight  to  ten  people. 
Of  course,  we  had  regular  dinners  when  we  knew  who  was 
coming,  and  those  got  to  be  celebrated  and  very  much 
sought  after.  Fanny  was  fearfully  pretty,  and  her  clothes 
lovely.  In  her  tulle  ball-gowns  that  year  she  used  to  look 
like  a  drift  of  snow,  her  sparkling,  brilliant  little  head  above 
the  white.  I  looked  to  the  menus  with  Van  Buren,  and  I 
discovered  that  I  knew  what  was  good  to  eat  and  how  to  get 
it,  even  if  I  had  used  to  lunch  on  ten  cents  a  day  for  more 
than  ten  years. 

Mrs.  Tempest  came  to  call  the  week  I  saw  Stephen's 
uncle,  but  I  was  out,  and  she  asked  us  within  ten  days  for 
dinner. 

"Tempest,"  Stephen  said  to  me,  "they  tell  me,  is  a  wife- 
made  man.  So  was  Roxburg.  Out  of  mediocrity  Mrs. 
Tempest  has  pulled  this  fellow  into  position.  I  am  curious 
to  see  her;  I've  heard  my  uncle  speak  of  her  often." 

The  Tempests  had  a  handsome  old  house  on  I  Street; 
my  husband  took  the  hostess  in  to  dinner,  and  I  went  in  with 
an  Englishman,  the  first  one  I  ever  met.  I  couldn't  under- 
245 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

stand  him  hardly  at  all;  it  was  like  a  foreign  language, 
pretty  nearly.  The  moment  I  looked  at  Mrs.  Tempest,  and 
she  gave  me  her  hand  and  spoke  to  me  in  her  rich,  low  voice, 
something  went  all  through  me.  I  recall  her  dress  that 
night,  of  white  satin,  creamy,  like  ivory,  and  no  color.  At 
her  breast  she  wore  one  big  gardenia,  and  after  that  night 
she  only  wore  violets.  Her  hair  was  nearly  black,  so  dark 
.and  heavy  that  it  seemed  aching  to  get  loose  from  the  pins 
and  roll  down;  she  wore  it  loosely  and  held  up  by  large 
shell  pins.  Her  color  was  warm  red  under  a  bloomy  skin, 
with  the  glow  of  what  Stephen  used  to  call  "a  sunset  peach." 
Her  lips  were  carved  out  boldly,  with  dents  in  the  corners  of 
her  mouth,  and  so  sharp  a  point  on  the  upper  lip  that  it 
made  you  want  to  put  your  finger  there.  Her  eyes  kept  her 
from  being  boldly  beautiful;  they  were  soft  and  shining 
under  her  straight,  fine  brows,  and  her  neck  and  her  arms 
were  maternal,  where  children  would  want  to  nestle  and 
put  their  heads;  and  I  wondered  if  she  had  children,  and, 
if  so,  how  she  could  wear  a  dress  like  that.  I  had  thought 
Fanny's  too  low,  but  Mrs.  Tempest  was  so  beautiful  that  I 
forgave  her.  She  had  no  age,  she  was  just  superb  and 
brilliant,  and  Stephen  by  her  side  at  table  turned  to  her  as 
if  she  were  a  sun.  I  saw  it,  and  right  then  and  there  I  knew 
what  was  going  to  be. 

There  were  several  Cabinet  Ministers  and  a  visiting 
Prince,  and  Mrs.  Tempest  shone  over  the  table  and  put 
every  one  at  ease.  I  said  to  myself,  "I'll  watch  and  see  how 
she  entertains,"  but  I  gave  that  up.  She  had  begun  where 
I  could  never  get!  And  then,  too,  my  heart  went  out  so  to 
my  husband  as  he  turned  to  her  that  I  didn't  call  it  "enter- 
taining" after  the  soup  was  taken  away.  Besides,  I  didn't 
have  time  to  observe  her  any  more,  for  I  found  out  that 
246 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Washington  wasn't  Carson  City,  and  I  had  to  take  a  de- 
cided place  at  once.  The  men  on  either  side  turned  to  me 
and  began  to  ask  me  questions. 

After  dinner  nobody  stayed  behind  in  the  dining-room 
to  smoke;  Mrs.  Tempest  didn't  have  it  that  way.  They 
strolled  into  the  big  library,  and  I  found  a  sofa  behind  a 
table,  and  the  room  shook  itself  out  round  me,  the  peo- 
ple seeking  their  friends  in  groups  and  pairs,  and  before 
I  realized  it  I,  myself,  was  part  of  a  circle,  and  couldn't 
blot  out  my  personality.  The  Englishman  and  Mr.  Tem- 
pest and  Senator  Bellars,  who  had  come  in  after  dinner,  and 
a  secretary,  stood  in  front  of  me,  and  Senator  Bellars  dic- 
tated at  me,  and  we  all  talked,  and  I  had  to.  And  then  and 
there  I  found  I  didn't  hate  it  as  much  as  I  had  feared. 

Stephen  came  up  and  joined  us,  and  seemed  to  have  taken 
an  elixir  more  stimulating  than  wine.  When  the  man  who 
was  speaking  when  he  joined  us  stopped,  my  husband  took 
up  the  subject  and  went  on  with  it.  And  I  was  proud  to 
have  him  there,  and  prouder  to  watch  them  listen  and  watch 
their  faces.  When  he  talked  nobody  else  seemed  to  have 
reason  for  existing. 

One  by  one  the  others  said  good-night,  and  Stephen  and 
his  uncle  and  I  were  alone;  they  hadn't  spoken  directly  to 
each  other,  so  Stephen  put  out  his  hand: 

"Uncle,  I  owe  everything  to  you." 

Senator  Bellars  dropped  Stephen's  hand  like  a  hot  coal, 
and  he  put  his  head  back  and  gave  a  short,  sharp  laugh. 

"Yes,  yes,"  insisted  my  husband,  earnestly,  "you  sent  for 
me  to  France  at  a  critical  moment — you  shaped  my  career." 

Senator  Bellars  glared  at  him,  then  looked  more  softly  to 
me,  and  murmured: 

"Blind  as  most  egoists!  But  it's  evident,  my  dear  boy, 
247 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

that  you  haven't  gone  as  high  yet  as  you  will.  Perhaps 
when  you  do  get  at  the  top,  you'll — " 

Stephen  was  quite  unconscious  of  what  his  uncle  meant. 
"I  want,  above  all,  uncle,"  he  said,  "to  go  on  with  some 
books  of  yours  that  I  was  absorbed  in  when  you  put  me 
out  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  house  some  years  ago.  I  wonder 
if  you  have  got  them  in  Washington  ?  You'll  let  me  come 
and  see,  won't  you  ?" 

I  could  see  that  his  uncle  was  perfectly  delighted  to  see 
him  again.  There  hadn't  been  anything  dramatic  or  booky 
about  their  meeting;  nobody  wept  on  each  other's  neck,  and 
yet  there  was  something  touching  to  me  in  it  as  I  saw  them 
shaking  hands. 

We  women  would  be  saved  a  lot  of  bother,  it  seems  to  me, 
if  we  could  learn  we  are  not  so  important  after  all.  We  get 
spoiled  by  the  men  often,  and  our  heads  turned:  it  was  as 
plain  to  me  as  the  nose  on  your  face  that  Mr.  Baxfield  was 
simply  crazy  about  his  wife.  Fanny  talked  about  her  hus- 
band in  a  patronizing  way:  she  seemed  to  think  she  had 
done  him  a  great  honor  in  marrying  him.  He  wrote  her 
pages  and  pages  every  week  and  he  worshipped  the  two 
children,  and  it  seemed  an  awful  shame  to  me  to  watch 
Fanny's  flirtations.  She  accepted,  finally,  an  invitation 
from  some  people  with  whom  she  had  crossed  on  the  ship 
to  go  West  in  a  private  car.  The  Count  di  Fallen  was 
invited,  and  she  left  the  children  with  me.  I  never  saw  my 
husband  as  angry  as  he  was  when  he  heard  that  she  had 
gone,  for  he  really  hadn't  bothered  much  about  Fanny,  and 
neither  of  us  discussed  plans  with  him.  He  said  that  she 
was  a  wretched  wife  and  mother,  and  that  he  wouldn't  have 
his  house  made  a  rendezvous,  and  I  almost  wondered  if  he 
weren't  a  little  bit  jealous  that  she  should  have  wanted  to 
248 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

go.     Driving  home  that  night  from  the  Tempests'  dinner 
Stephen  told  me  that  he  didn't  admire  Mrs.  Tempest's  type. 

"She's  too  sensuous,"  he  said,  "too  extravagant,  luscious. 
She  represents  the  stormy  part  of  a  man's  career.  Every 
man,"  he  went  on,  "has  his  special  type.  You'll  find  that 
out,  and  he  rarely  admires  out  of  it.'" 

"Well,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "Miss  Pagee  and  Fanny  and 
Mrs.  Tempest  are  all  the  same  kind  of  woman,  only  Mrs. 
Tempest  is  the  most  beautiful  of  them  all."  I  asked  him 
if  he  didn't  think  she  was  intelligent.  He  said: 

"Very,  and  very  charming.  My  uncle  admires  her.  She 
has  the  social  gift.  She  is  a  perfect  hostess.  I  don't  know 
when  I've  been  in  such  agreeable  company."  And  he 
added:  "I  dare  say  she  will  be  a  valuable  friend  for  you  this 
year  if  you  cared  to  consult  her."  Then  he  went  on  talking 
about  other  things,  and  going  home  he  held  my  hand.  It 
was  a  fine  night  for  winter,  the  streets  were  still,  the  sky 
overhead  blue  and  bright  with  stars.  He  looked  so  big 
and  dark  sitting  there  in  his  long  coat,  and  I  remembered 
how  people's  eyes  had  sought  him  at  the  Tempests',  and 
how  he  had  been  listened  to.  And  it  seemed  to  me  as 
though  Stephen  could  get  anywhere.  And  I  had  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  belonged  to  me;  and,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Tem- 
pest's beauty,  I  wasn't  unhappy  that  night. 

I    planned    next   day  to   do   a    long-postponed   errand, 

and    took    the    carriage    and    drove    to Street,    and 

was  just  getting  out  when  I  saw  Mrs.  Tempest  come  from 
Gaits',  the  jewellers. 

"Why,  what  errand  can  you  be  bent  upon,  Mrs.  Kirkland  ? 
You  look  so" — and  she  paused  for  a  word — "so  radiant" 

And  I  said:  "I  am  radiant.  I  am  going  in  to  buy  a 
solitaire  diamond  ring." 

249 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

"Heavens!"  she  laughed.  "You  speak  as  though  a  soli- 
taire were  a  pound  of  tea!  But  no  doubt  it  is  in  reality  a 
good  many  pounds  of  Sugar." 

And  I  answered,  "No,  my  husband  isn't  in  on  the  Sugar 
deal,"  for  every  one  in  Washington  thought  he  was. 

"I  don't  often  come  up  with  people  bent  upon  such  brill- 
iant errands,"  she  went  on. 

I  thought  her,  then,  like  a  well-painted  portrait,  the  fur  in 
her  dark  hat  coming  down  on  her  dark  hair,  and  a  big  bunch 
of  violets  in  her  coat. 

"Mayn't  I  go  to  Gaits'  with  you?  Do  let  me!  I  am 
awfully  discreet." 

I  told  her  I  would  be  glad  if  she  would  help  me;  I  wasn't 
a  judge  of  stones,  and  I  had  to  buy  the  ring  this  morning — 
I  couldn't  put  it  off  any  longer. 

"It's  for  some  friend's  engagement,  I  expect." 

And  I  said  no,  my  husband  had  told  me  to  buy  this  stone 
long  ago  in  Carson  City,  and  I  actually  hadn't  had  time  yet! 

She  exclaimed:  "Oh,  really!"  And  we  went  into 
Gaits'  together.  Mrs.  Tempest  asked  for  the  manager, 
and  we  were  shown  into  a  private  room.  The  head  sales- 
man got  out  tubes  and  cases  and  tissue-papers  full  of  stones 
from  the  safes.  And  we  two  sat  down  to  choose  my  ring — 
a  black  velvet  cushion  between  us. 

It  took  a  long  time.  Personally,  I  would  rather  have 
looked  through  the  show-cases  and  selected  something 
quietly  by  myself,  but  Mrs.  Tempest  was  kind  and 
interested,  and  tried  the  rings  on,  and  her  hands  were 
large  and  ample,  with  pointed  fingers  and  palms  like 
flowers.  Their  tips  had  never  been  spoiled  by  the  key- 
board of  a  Remington. 

"This  stone,"  she  said,  at  last,  "is  superb,  isn't  it?  I 
250 


A   SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 

should  certainly  advise  you  to  take  this  one,  Mrs.  Kirkland," 
and  as  she  turned  it  round  on  her  finger  it  did  gleam  like  a 
star.  I  put  it  on  above  my  wedding-ring. 

I  took  Mrs.  Tempest  to  her  house  in  our  carriage,  and 
went  back  home  to  lunch.  When  my  husband  returned 
for  tea,  late,  I  showed  him  my  new  ring. 

"All  right,  Esther;  it's  a  good  stone,  I  dare  say."  But 
he  scarcely  looked  at  it  as  he  added :  "  Do  you  know,  I  think 
that  Mrs.  Tempest  can  be  of  enormous  value  to  you.  I 
wish  you  would  cultivate  her,  my  dear  girl." 

He  had  sent  her  the  violets  she  wore  that  morning  in  her 
coat,  and  I  learned  the  fact  when  the  flower  bill  came  from 
the  little  man  around  the  corner.  There  were  lots  of  flowers 
during  those  months,  as  well  as  a  hundred  dollars'  worth 
for  her;  but  the  most  costly  of  all  to  me  was  that  first  bunch 
of  violets — like  a  purple  blot  it  lay  on  the  bill.  One  of  the 
strange  things  about  it  all  was  Stephen's  sending  the  bill 
home  with  the  bills  for  the  rest  of  the  household  flowers. 
He  had  never  sent  me  a  rose  in  his  life,  not  a  single  flower. 
I  had  bought  a  diamond  ring  worth  thousands  of  dollars,  but 
Mrs.  Tempest's  bunch  of  violets  was  the  most  expensive 
gift  of  all,  it  seemed  to  me. 

It  wasn't  his  fault.  It  took  me  a  long  time  to  grant  this, 
and  it  wasn't  until  I  had  gone  further  and  climbed  steeper 
that  I  acknowledged  it.  Women  appeared  to  think  him 
their  natural  prey,  and  if  temptation  ever  came  and  sat  at 
a  man's  door,  it  did  at  Stephen  Kirkland's!  Those  days 
he  looked  upon  me  as  though  I  were  his  sister,  and  one  night 
at  dinner,  when  we  had  a  distinguished  French  writer  there, 
my  husband  said,  in  French,  "M.  De  Faux,  permittee  mot 
de  vous  presenter  a  ma  mere,"  and  right  then  and  there  I 
learned  how  brilliant  French  people  are,  and  how  kindly 
251 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

polite.  The  Frenchman  bowed  and  smiled  charmingly  to 
me,  and  later  said: 

"Madame,  I  am  inclined  to  wonder  if  you  appreciated 
the  compliment  your  husband  unconsciously  paid  you  a 
short  time  ago.  Every  perfect  woman  enfolds  in  her 
two  qualities  —  that  of  the  mother  and  that  of  the 
wife. " 

Mrs.  Tempest  was  not  at  that  dinner.  She  had  just  come 
back  from  Florida,  where  she  had  been  with  her  husband 
almost  since  I  had  seen  her  first,  and  Mr.  Tempest  was 
very  ill. 

It  turned  out  that  I  didn't  need  a  great  deal  of  social  help. 
Mr.  Van  Buren  knew  something  of  etiquette,  and,  as  Pur- 
chase said,  "I  did  the  best  I  could."  Our  house  was  so 
beautiful,  our  food  so  good,  and  Stephen  so  delightful,  that 
things  ran  along  and  people  liked  to  come. 

It  seemed  as  though  we  couldn't  find  time  to  go  out  our- 
selves— the  people  stayed  late  and  came  often.  I  learned 
a  great  deal  about  politics  and  about  my  country,  and  I 
must  have  made  a  fairly  good  background,  for  men  talked 
round  me,  and  brought  the  questions  of  the  times  to  our 
music-room,  where  I  sat  every  afternoon  late,  at  tea.  Pretty 
nearly  every  one  worth  knowing  in  Washington  came  and 
went  —  everyone  save  my  husband;  he  was  never  there. 
Except  at  luncheon,  or  when  we  had  formal  dinners  our- 
selves, I  never  saw  him.  I  was  glad  people  came;  they 
kept  me  from  feeling  so  keenly,  and  I  accepted  every  invita- 
tion my  husband  wished  me  to,  and  now  and  then  I  used  to 
go  up  to  my  little  room  off  my  bedroom  and  shut  the  door 
and  put  my  hands  to  my  head,  and  say  "Hush!  Hush!" 
in  hopes  the  whirlwind  would  die  down,  and  let  me  hear 
some  voice  that  would  tell  me  what  to  do.  Not  about  social 
252 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

things — they  seemed,  after  all,  to  take  care  of  themselves — 
when  you  spend  money  like  water  and  keep  open  house,  and 
don't  force  your  opinions  on  any  one,  it's  easy  enough  to  get 
along  in  the  world — but  what  I  should  do  about  my  husband 
— that  was  what  I  wanted  some  voice  to  tell  me! 


CHAPTER   LIII 

RS.  TEMPEST  began  by  being  fond  of  me. 
I  can  never  say  she  didn't  like  me,  and  she 
was  my  first  intimate  friend.  Until  she  came 
I  had  hardly  missed  having  any  One,  taken 
up  as  I  was  with  Stephen;  besides,  women 
interest  me  less  than  men.  I  never  know  what  a  woman 
will  do  next,  whereas,  after  a  life  with  Stephen,  I  think  I 
could  pretty  well  prophesy  what  any  half-way  extraordinary 
man  would  do  under  unexpected  circumstances.  There  must 
have  been  a  lonely  place,  however;  Mary  Tempest  found 
an  empty  one.  I  used  to  love  her  flying  visits  to  me  in  the 
morning,  when  she  made  me  sit  down  by  her  and  hear  her 
talk.  And  I  took  advice  from  her  about  my  clothes.  Fanny 
had  given  me  up  as  a  bad  job  from  the  first  day,  but  Mary 
Tempest  thought  my  style  could  be  developed,  and  that  I 
had  one.  She  amused  me  and  made  me  laugh.  Her  way 
of  telling  a  story  and  of  saying  things  was  delightful.  It 
wasn't  so  much  "the  regularity  of  her  features,  but  the  in- 
spiration and  brilliancy  of  her  expression"  that  made  her 
charming.  That's  what  I  heard  my  husband  say  about  her 
once.  I  never  asked  her  about  entertaining,  not  because 
I  was  too  proud,  but  I  understood  that  I  would  never 
make  a  success  in  Washington  in  going  any  but  my  own 
way. 

One  reason  Mary  Tempest  and  I  got  on  so  well  was  be- 
254 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

cause  I  left  her  alone,  as  I  did  my  husband,  and  enjoyed 
her  without  bothering. 

Mr.  Tempest's  condition  didn't  sadden  her,  and  they 
wouldn't  let  her  be  with  him  the  next  season  in  the  South, 
so  she  came  back  to  Washington  and  opened  her  house,  and 
there  was  a  long  session  that  year.  For  the  first  few  weeks 
we  saw  each  other  all  the  time.  Mary  Tempest's  experience 
was  wide,  and  I  can  see  her  now,  sitting  in  a  comfortable 
chair  in  my  little  room,  smoking  a  cigarette  and  looking  at 
me  through  her  lorgnon.  One  day  she  said: 

"It's  delicious,  Esther,  the  way  you  say,  'Why,  Mary!'  to 
me.  All  your  charm  and  innocence  and  unworldliness  are 
comprised  in  those  few  words.  Do  I  shock  you  sometimes  ?" 

She  had  told  me  heaps  of  things  about  life  and  Europe, 
and  all  the  scandals  in  Washington  (and  that  took  time). 
I  said,  "No,  you  haven't  shocked  me;  real  things  don't  do 
that." 

"When  I  do,"  she  told  me,  "say  so."  And  in  looking 
back  I  can't  see  now  that  she  ever  did.  The  anguish  she 
gave  me  was  of  a  very  different  kind. 

There  was  a  generosity  about  the  way  Mary  Tempest 
looked  at  life  and  people;  she  was  never  critical  or  mean, 
though  she  was  bitter — her  life  made  her  so  in  many  ways, 
and  she  was  ambitious.  She  brought  me  books  to  read,  and 
when  I  told  her  I  hadn't  time  to  open  them  she  scolded  me. 

"When  a  woman  finds  she  hasn't  time  to  read  she  had 
better  dismiss  one  of  her  servants  and  do  her  own  house- 
work; she'll  discover  whether  she  has  any  mind  or  not. 
Her  longing  for  a  book  will  be  so  great  that  she'll  make 
time — I  don't  mean  Miss  Purchase,  though,"  Mrs.  Tempest 
said,  for  as  we  were  speaking  Purchase  came  in. 

I  had  been  in  a  fearful  rush,  for  Fanny  was  coming  back 
255 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

in  the  middle  of  a  gay  week.  And  that  night  we  had  a 
dinner  on  of  twenty.  Mary  Tempest  had  run  in  as  she 
did,  late,  before  luncheon.  Miss  Purchase  came  in, 
dressed  up  to  kill.  Everything  she  had  on  was  new,  and 
her  wardrobe  struck  me  all  at  once,  from  her  bonnet,  which 
was  simply  fearful,  to  the  new,  loud,  cheap  shoes  that 
brought  her  creaking  across  the  floor.  She  had  a  dotted 
veil  over  her  eye-glasses,  and  her  cheeks  were  scarlet.  There, 
I  thought,  now  she  is  going,  and  what  on  earth  will  become 
of  me  ? 

"Don't  look  scared,"  she  said,  quietly.  "I'd  like  to  see 
you  alone,  Mis'  Kirkland,  but  that's  as  hard  as  it  is  to  get 
the  spots  off  your  husband's  clothes.  I've  come  in  to  say 
you  needn't  call  me  Purchase  any  more." 

I  was  so  used  to  her  queerness  and  her  tenderness  that 
I  thought  it  was  her  way  of  asking  me  to  call  her  Cornelia. 

"I'm  married,"  she  said;  "just  now.  We've  just  come 
in.  You  needn't  bother  about  him — he's  up-stairs  getting 
off  his  boots;  his  feet  hurt." 

Mary  Tempest  didn't  laugh,  I  was  glad  to  see,  for  as  I 
sat  down  at  my  desk  I  couldn't  speak  for  fear  I  should 
scream  with  laughter  and  mortally  offend  my  old  servant. 

"It's  Van  Buren,"  she  said.  "I  thought  you'd  like  him 
good  as  any,  and  if  you're  satisfied  we  can  keep  right  on 
here." 

We  congratulated  her.  I  kissed  her,  and  she  seemed 
calmly  happy. 

"'Twas  the  'Miss,'"  she  informed  us.  "I  actually 
couldn't  bear  it  another  minute.  With  all  these  titles  and 
positions  here,  'Miss'  is  too  much!" 

She  had  been  my  housekeeper  and  general  manager,  and 
"Mrs.  Van  Buren"  would  go  down  all  right,  but  I  should 
256 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

have  to  get  used  to  it,  and  I  told  her  so.  She  had  squeaked 
off  to  the  door  by  this,  and  stopped  there. 

"No,  Mis'  Kirkland,  you  couldn't,"  she  said,  "and  I 
couldn't  either,  from  you.  I'd  be  real  glad  if  you'd  call  me 
Cornelia."  And  she  went  out. 

So  it  was  that  hanging  fire  after  all!  I  almost  believe  that 
she  had  gone  and  got  married  to  bring  it  round!  She  had 
taken  a  violent  dislike  to  Mrs.  Tempest  from  the  first,  and 
was  jealous  of  everybody  who  came  near  me,  and  could 
only  be  half-way  decent  to  Fanny.  She  looked  like  a 
thunder-cloud  whenever  Mrs.  Tempest  was  in  her  presence. 

When  she  left,  Mary  said:  "You  draw  the  most  antip- 
odal creatures  to  you,  Esther." 

And  I  answered:  "I  wish  I  could  draw  Fanny  to  me." 

"Nonsense!"  my  friend  replied.  "Let  every  pretty 
woman  live  her  life,  and  don't  make  the  mistake  of  thinking 
that  because  she's  born  in  your  family  you  have  to  lend  her 
your  conscience." 

And  I  said:  "I  understand  you  perfectly,  and  I  don't 
think  so.  I'm  thinking  of— her  husband — the  man." 

And  she  answered,  rather  sharply:  "I  never  knew  you, 
my  dear,  when  you  weren't." 


CHAPTER   LIV 

T  was  that  night  at  dinner  that  I  noticed 
it  first.  Though  I  had  not  seen  my  husband 
except  at  certain  meals  and  when  we  went 
out  together  formally,  I  had  hardly  thought 
there  was  any  reason  for  it  but  the  engage- 
ments of  his  political  life.  The  President  was  devoted 
to  Stephen,  and  I  took  his  absence  for  granted.  They 
were  agitating  the  tariff  question,  and  Senator  Bellars 
sat  beside  me  for  dinner.  He  and  my  husband  were 
absorbed  in  the  issue,  and  there  had  been  a  great 
deal  of  talk  about  the  bribing  of  Congress  by  merchants 
and  producers,  and  the  day  before  Stephen  had  spoken, 
and  Mrs.  Tempest  and  I  had  gone  together  to  hear  him. 
This  night  at  dinner  she  sat  by  my  husband,  and  in  a 
pause  of  conversation,  after  Stephen  and  his  uncle  had  been 
talking  heatedly  together,  she  said  something  to  him  about 
the  tariff  and  his  opinions,  and  he  answered  her,  and  by  the 
way  they  spoke — by  what  they  said — /  knew.  She  spoke 
as  a  woman  speaks  who  has  shared  hours  with  a  man,  who 
has  followed  his  aims,  his  work,  his  plans,  his  thoughts,  for 
days,  for  weeks,  closely.  She  spoke  as  a  woman  speaks 
only  when  she  cares.  Plate  after  plate  of  the  long  dinner 
passed  me,  and  every  bit  I  touched  seemed  turned  to  ice. 

"You're  not  eating,"  Senator  Bellars  noticed,  and  I  ex- 
plained it  by  telling  him  I  had  a  bad  headache. 
258 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"You  look  it,  my  dear.  Get  away — I'll  make  your 
excuses." 

Once  up-stairs  I  saw  only  those  two  people  as  they  sat 
at  the  other  end  of  my  table — my  husband,  his  dark,  eager 
face  illumined,  as  it  was  these  days,  by  his  thoughts  and 
his  mind;  and  Mary  Tempest,  the  wit  and  beauty  of  Wash- 
ington, smiling  on  him.  The  two  remained  like  that  to- 
gether before  my  mind's  eyes  until  I  could  see  nothing  else  in 
the  world.  Then  and  there  I  saw  I  should  have  a  bad  night, 
and  took  an  antipyrine  powder  before  I  went  to  bed.  Next 
morning,  however,  there  they  were  again  to  greet  me  the 
moment  I  woke,  and  when  Cornelia  appeared  with  my 
breakfast  (I  had  taken  the  habit  from  Fanny  of  eating  break- 
fast in  my  room)  I  was  glad  she  came  in  single,  at  any  rate! 

"Cornelia,"  I  asked,  "why  did  you  get  married  ?" 

"Wall,"  she  replied,  "you  work  so  queer  with  yours,  I 
was  just  spoilin'  to  try  my  way  on  some  one!" 

And  I  couldn't  help  persisting:  "What  do  you  think  is 
the  matter  with  my  way  ?" 

"Why,  you're  too  easy,  Mis'  Kirkland;  you'd  spoil  a  well- 
intentioned  man." 

I  didn't  wish  her  to  go  on,  and  she  was  far  too  discreet 
to  breathe  a  word  without  encouragement.  There  had  been 
a  falling  off  this  season  in  her  devotion  to  my  husband — not 
that  she  neglected  him,  but  she  allowed  his  man-servant  to 
supersede  her,  and  devoted  herself  to  me.  She  told  me  the 
Senator  had  gone  horseback  riding.  Mrs.  Tempest  was  a 
famous  horsewoman,  and  they  had  ridden  together  again 
to  Chevy  Chase.  It  was  like  an  obsession  in  my  brain, 
and  I  knew,  too,  now,  how  I  cared.  That  morning  before 
noon  Fanny  arrived.  Cornelia  Purchase  Van  Buren  re- 
ceived her  and  told  her  I  wouldn't  be  able  to  see  her  until 
18  259 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

tea-time,  that  I  had  a  headache  now  two  days  old.  I  might 
have  added  that  my  heart  had  ached  on  and  off  for  six  years 
— that  was  what  was  the  matter  with  me! 

There  was  a  surprise  on  hand  for  Fanny,  and  I  didn't  care 
about  seeing  her  before  it  arrived.  I  had  an  engagement 
with  Mrs.  Tempest  for  lunch,  and  to  write  the  note  to  break 
my  appointment  was  a  physical  pain  for  me.  I  had  to  go 
on  in  the  old  familiar  way  in  order  not  to  awaken  her  dis- 
trust; I  didn't  mean  she  should  notice  a  difference  in  me. 
I  kept  my  room  all  day,  and  at  tea-time  they  let  in  Fanny 
and  her  children.  She  looked  worn  out — ten  years  older. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  American  pleasure  excursions!" 
she  exclaimed,  cross  as  two  sticks.  "The  combination  of 
American  food  and  American  weather  is  too  much  for  any 
well-organized  human  being." 

"Then  you  don't  like  the  West  any  better  than  when  you 
went  out  with  us,  Fanny  ?" 

And  she  answered:  "One  doesn't  like  America,  my  dear 
Esther,  one  endures  it.  But  you've  taken  first-rate  care  of 
the  kiddies,"  and  she  regarded  me  with  something  like  the 
look  of  a  sister.  "Who's  been  taking  care  of  you  ?" 

I  told  her  of  Cornelia's  marriage,  and  she  was  awfully 
amused. 

"You've  been  about  a  lot  with  Mrs.  Tempest,  haven't  you  ?" 

But  I  got  her  off  that  topic  before  my  voice  or  my  face 
could  give  me  away.  She  was  holding  her  littlest  child, 
and  I  asked:  "Is  there  anybody  you'd  especially  like  to  see, 
Fanny  ?" 

And  she  answered,  crossly : "  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  have 
in  a  raft  of  people.  There's  only  one  person  I  can  think  of 
that  I'd  give  a  pin  to  see,"  and  her  face  changed. 

"Why?     Who's  that?" 

260 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

And  she  replied,  quietly:   "Richard." 
I  took  a  telegram  which  had  come  to  me  that   morning 
and  handed  it  to  her,  and  she  exclaimed: 
"Well,  of  all  things!" 
It  said: 

"Arrived.     Will  be  with  you  to-morrow. 

"RICHARD  BAXFIELD." 

And  it  was  dated  New  York. 

"But  it's  for  you,  Esther." 

"In  answer  to  one  I  sent,"  I  told  her.  "I  sent  him  one 
just  after  you'd  gone  West."  I  didn't  care  whether  she  was 
mad  or  not.  "I  cabled  your  husband  I  wanted  to  see  him 
on  important  business." 

"Well,  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!"  She  stared  at  me. 
"Why,  what  will  he  think?  What  did  you  do  it  for? 
Whose  business  ?  I  don't  care  to  have  you  meddle  in 
my  affairs,  Esther  Carey." 

And  I  smiled,  for  those  were  the  words  she  had  used  when 
she  was  engaged  to  Charlie  De  Groot. 

She  put  the  baby  down  and  got  up  off  the  bed. 

"Well,  you  are  queer,"  she  murmured,  but  I  could  see  that 
under  all  she  was  glad — glad.  Her  face  lit  up,  and  she 
walked  over  to  the  bureau,  took  up  my  manicure  things  and 
gazed  at  her  nails,  smiling.  "You  are  queer,"  she  mur- 
mured; but  what  she  meant  was,  "I'm  glad — I'm  glad" 
In  a  second  or  two  she  said,  from  where  she  stood: 

"You  know  Di  Fallen,  Esther  ?  I  got  bored  with  him  the 
first  day  of  the  trip.  He  made  me  tired,  he  was  so  vain  and 
so  sure.  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  He  took  me 
for  granted,  and  I  expect  he  thought  that  since  I  had  gone 
West  with  the  others,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned  it  meant 
261 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

everything.     It  made  me  perfectly  furious — he  is  a  senti- 
mental snob,  and  I  led  him  a  dance,  I  promise  you." 

She  seemed  delighted  with  her  flirtation,  and  I  could 
imagine  how  she  had  tortured  the  poor  fellow. 

"He  left  us  in  a  rage  at  Denver,  but  joined  us  again,  and, 
in  short,  we  came  back  as  we  went."  She  laughed  heartily, 
and  put  down  the  nail-file  and  came  back  to  me.  "It  was  a 
really  clever  thing  of  you  to  send  for  Richard,  Esther.  I 
don't  mind  a  bit." 

Then  I  sat  upright  in  bed  and  looked  at  her  hard. 

"Do  you  care  for  your  husband,  Fanny  Baxfield  ?" 

"Why,  the  idea!  What  a  question,  Esther  Carey.  I 
should  think  I  did!" 

"Very  well,  then,  stick  to  him."  I  didn't  finish,  for  she 
crinkled  her  brows  a  little  and  looked  at  me  piercingly. 

"Why — what — did — you — really  send  for  him  for?"  she 
wondered.  "Did  you  think  I  didn't  care  for  him,  and  that 
I  had  gone  off  for  good — and  you  were  jealous  and  unhappy 
and  would  console  him  ?" 

"Never  mind,"  I  answered,  coolly — "never  mind.  Only 
remember  what  I  say,  and  don't  think  that  because  a  man's 
married  it  doesn't  follow  that  every  woman  under  creation 
won't  have  her  hack  at  him!" 

She  looked  at  me  pityingly.  "My  poor  Esther!"  she 
murmured.  "My  husband  is  perfectly  crazy  about  me. 
He  always  has  been,  and  there's  really  never  been  any  other 
woman  in  his  life  but  me." 

"Very  well,"  I  answered,  hard  as  nails,  "see  you  keep 
him,  that's  all!  And  keep  him  up  to  that  story — if  it's  what 
he's  told  you!" 

She  went  out  of  the  room  followed  by  the  children,  and  I 
could  have  laughed  out  loud. 

262 


CHAPTER   LV 

R.  BAXFIELD  asked  me  at  once  why  I  had 
sent  for  him.  We  were  at  tea  in  the  music- 
room  the  day  he  arrived,  and  he  had  run 
up  to  see  his  wife  and  the  children,  and 
then  come  down  to  me.  He  crossed  the 
room  with  a  quick,  short  step,  and  a  walk  that  meant 
business;  and  he  looked  happy  and  successful  and  poised, 
and  stouter  and  fatherly  and  husbandly.  He  came  quickly 
to  the  sofa  where  I  sat  by  the  tea-table,  gave  me  both 
hands,  sat  down  by  me,  and  said,  in  an  undertone: 

"I  had  been  to  the  Parthenon  with  a  Harvard  chum  of 
mine  who  had  come  over  to  Greece,  and  when  I  returned  to 
the  Embassy  I  found  your  despatch.  It  brought  me  a  sight 
of  Oretown — of  the  garden  and  the  apple-trees.  I  sent  for 
tickets  at  once  for  the  first  ship — you  see,  I  am  a  chap  to  be 
counted  on.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

His  face  and  his  eyes  were  greatly  changed.  I  saw  Fanny 
there  as  plain  as  day — everywhere;  he  loved  her,  he  was 
crazy  about  her,  and  I  knew  he  was  dying  to  get  back  up- 
stairs. 

"You're  not  sorry  you  ve  come  ?" 

"Sorry?  Lord,  no!"  he  breathed.  "Aren't  the  boys 
bruisers  ?" 

I  said  to  him:    "I  thought  we  all  needed  you.     I  can't 
claim  anything  but  just  that." 
263 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

Already  he  had  forgotten  the  despatch,  and  everything 
except  getting  back  up-stairs.  He  gulped  his  tea,  and 
Mrs.  Tempest  came  in  then  and  I  introduced  them,  and 
Mr.  Baxfield  left  as  soon  as  he  decently  could,  going  out 
as  briskly  as  he  came  —  big,  strong,  and  devoted. 

Mary  Tempest  asked  me  kindly  about  my  headache. 
She  had  no  idea  that  I  noticed  anything.  She  had  just  come 
from  a  matinee,  and  falling  loosely  in  her  jacket  was  the 
great  bunch  of  violets  she  always  wore.  Her  hat  was  a  furry 
turban,  and  her  hair  came  out  from  under  it  vigorous  and  shin- 
ing, with  a  coppery  glint,  and  her  face  was  fresh  and  ardent. 
She  talked  to  us  delightfully  about  the  play,  and  called  me 
"Esther  darling,"  and  held  her  hand  over  mine  a  great  deal 
of  the  time.  When  she  was  her  most  brilliant  self  my  hus- 
band came  in,  to  my  surprise,  for  it  was  unusual  to  have  him 
home  for  tea.  At  his  entrance  Mrs.  Tempest  withdrew 
her  hand  from  mine,  but  the  color  in  her  cheeks  didn't 
change — she  only  raised  her  head  and  her  chin  a  little  as  a 
proud  woman  might  do  when  the  man  of  all  men  came  in. 

My  husband  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  opposite  us,  and 
then  the  two  shook  hands,  and  though  they  were  clever, 
worldly  people  they  couldn't  help  it,  their  eyes  looked — and 
I  saw.  Stephen  began  to  tell  her  about  a  meeting  just 
held  in  his  committee-room  on  the  formation  of  a  mining 
bill  Nevada  was  trying  to  pass,  but  they  hadn't  been  able 
to  get  a  quorum.  Neither  thought  that  I  had  the  least  idea 
of  what  was  between  them;  perhaps  neither  of  them  cared. 
They  did  not  speak  or  turn  to  me,  and  after  a  little  I  went 
through  into  the  drawing-room.  In  the  window  by  the 
piano  there  were  two  people — Fanny  and  her  husband.  She 
was  talking  fast,  and  laughing,  telling  him  things — as  one 
does;  and  he  had  both  his  arms  about  her  waist. 
264 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

I  couldn't  pass  them — I  preferred,  even,  to  recross  the 
music-room;  and  when  I  went  back  over  the  threshold 
and  looked  at  the  other  two,  Stephen  was  talking  eagerly 
to  Mrs.  Tempest,  telling  her  things — as  one  does;  and  she 
was  listening  eagerly. 

I  went  up-stairs — I  thought  I'd  dictate  some  notes  to 
Van  Buren;  and  when  I  reached  my  little  room  I  heard 
voices  there.  The  door  was  half-way  open,  and  I  could  see 
Cornelia  standing  by  her  husband  at  my  desk — she  was 
laying  down  the  law,  there  wasn't  a  doubt  about  it — and 
Van  Buren  had  a  dreamy,  resigned  look,  and  she  was  saying 
things;  he  seemed  to  like  them. 

I  went  on  to  my  bedroom,  got  my  hat  and  coat  and  fur 
and  gloves,  and  started  out  for  a  long  walk.  Nobody 
needed  me,  and  the  couples  were  pretty  well  filled  out. 


CHAPTER   LVI 

ICHARD  BAXFIELD  had  to  return  to 
Greece  almost  immediately,  and  it  was  a 
relief  to  me  when  the  Baxfields  were  gone. 
There  were  more  rooms  I  could  think  in  and 
wonder  in,  and  I  missed  no  one.  Every  time  I 
was  invited,  I  went  to  dinner  and  to  lunch,  and  all  the  time 
I  was  studying  out,  thinking,  wondering,  planning,  trying 
to  understand  and  to  be  led. 

Mrs.  Tempest  was  asked  everywhere  that  we  were,  and 
Senator  Kirkland  took  her  in  to  dinner  nearly  every  time. 
I  couldn't  make  out  what  was  generally  known,  and  I 
didn't  notice  whether  people  were  pitying  or  ignoring  me. 
Little  by  little,  though  as  far  as  I  know  I  never  changed, 
Mary  Tempest  didn't  come  to  see  me  so  often,  and  I  had 
not  been  in  the  habit  of  calling  at  her  house  much,  and 
by-and-by  she  ceased  to  come  at  all. 

Stephen  had  no  idea  how  he  ignored  me,  I  am  sure,  but 
at  one  time  he  didn't  address  a  word  to  me  for  three  days; 
at  the  end  of  the  third  I  was  sitting  sewing  in  my  little 
room,  and  the  windows  were  open,  and  I  had  on  a  thin 
dress,  a  pretty  one,  with  a  long  blue  sash,  when  my  husband 
came  in  and  threw  himself  down  in  a  big  chair. 

"How  pleasant  it  is  here,"  he  said,  "and  what  a  picture 
of  domestic  industry  you  are,  my  dear  girl." 

He  was  nervous  and  strained,  and  leaned  his  head  on  his 
266 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

hand  and  stared  at  me  from  under  the  shield  of  his 
fingers. 

There  had  been  a  bit  of  news  in  the  evening  papers,  and 
the  Post  lay  there.  I  had  been  reading,  and  I  knew  that 
my  husband  came  in  to  me  at  this  hour  because  he  had 
missed  an  appointment  with  Mrs.  Tempest,  and  that  he 
was  annoyed  and  unhappy. 

"You've  seen,  Stephen,  that  Mr.  Tempest  is  dead?"  I 
asked  him. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  he  exclaimed,  "no,  I  haven't. 
Is  it  in  the  paper  ?"  And  he  took  the  Post. 

He  couldn't  control  all  his  emotion,  and  when  he  spoke 
again  his  voice  had  a  strained  sound,  as  though  he  were 
keeping  back  the  natural  ring  of  it.  There  was  not  a  grain 
of  hypocrisy  in  Stephen,  and  he  didn't  even  know  how  to 
protect  me.  He  didn't  refer  to  the  subject  of  Mr.  Tempest, 
but  began  to  speak  about  the  tariff  bill,  and  said  he  had  a 
close  decision  before  him;  and  when  he  left  the  room  it  was 
to  go  to  her,  I  knew.  He  told  me  to  excuse  him  for  dinner, 
that  he  couldn't  be  at  home,  and  I  knew  that  I  should  have 
to  sit  through  another  long  function,  conscious  all  the  while 
that  the  one  word  in  Washington  was  that  "Mrs.  Tempest 
was  free." 

I  couldn't  write  her — and  I  didn't.  She  was  away  for 
a  fortnight,  and  during  the  first  few  days  after  she  came 
back  I  passed  her  in  the  street,  in  her  coupe,  her  black  veil 
thrown  back  from  her  face — not  the  face  of  a  woman  in 
sorrow — and  in  her  dress  was  a  great  bunch  of  violets. 

Mrs.  Cornelia  Purchase  Van  Buren  acted  very  strangely 
those  days.     She  avoided  me,  and  I  felt  that  the  whole 
world  had  turned  a  blank  to  me,  and  the  best  thing  for  me 
267 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

was  to  get  out  of  where  I  happened  to  be,  at  any  rate;  as 
wives  are  sometimes,  I  was  surely  de  trop. 

Mrs.  Van  Buren  came  into  my  little  room  and  shut  the 
door.  Whenever  she  talked  to  me,  though  I  was  a  Senator's 
wife  and  she  an*  upper  servant,  she  always  talked  in  a 
familiar,  cross  way  that  certain  people  have  who  are  fond 
of  you. 

"I  can't  keep  in  another  minute,  Mis'  Kirkland.  What 
air  you  goin'  to  do  ?"  She  was  trembling  and  excited  as  I 
had  never  seen  her. 

"About  what,  Cornelia  ?" 

"Why,  about  what  Washington  and  the  papers  and  Town 
Topics  and  everybody  gasses  about  except  yourself — " 

"Go  back  to  your  room!"  I  ordered.  I  was  furious; 
anger  rose  at  her  words.  No  one  had  ever  breathed  a  word 
of  any  kind  to  me  before. 

She  gasped  out:  "Go  to  my  room  ?  Lands!  I've  been 
there,  and  not  seen  any  real  joy  in  it,  he  can  tell  you.  I've 
been  just  spoilin'  to  bust  out  to  the  Senator,  and  if  you 
don't,  I  will!" 

She  was  more  tragic  than  I  could  have  been,  and  her 
trembling  lips  and  her  working  hands  were  so  loyal  to  me ! 

"You  may  go,"  I  said;  "you  and  your  husband  will  find 
another  place  at  once." 

My  check-book  was  on  the  table,  and  I  opened  it.  Her 
cheeks  were  red  as  fire  and  her  eyes  flashed  behind  her 
shining  glasses,  and  she  cried,  wildly: 

"Oh,  I'll  go  fast  enough,  sence  you  turn  me  out.  But  let 
me  tell  you  that  you're  a  fool,  Mis'  Kirkland;  he'd  orter 
been  horsewhipped  long  ago,  if  he  is  a  genius.  My  husband 
will  go,  too."  She  turned  in  her  stiff,  rigid  way,  and  got  as 
far  as  the  door. 

268 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

"Wait  until  I've  made  out  your  check,"  I  commanded. 
"I  don't  wish  to  see  you  again."  My  hand  trembled  as  I 
wrote,  and  when  the  slip  was  made  out  and  the  book  closed 
and  the  pen  put  up,  Cornelia  stalked  back  to  me,  and  before 
I  could  stop  her  was  down  on  her  knees,  weeping  violently, 
as  only  those  hard,  strained  natures  can  weep.  She  kissed 
my  hands  and  told  me  she  "wouldn't  go,  not  if  I  was  to  get 
the  President  here  to  turn  her  out." 

"I  jest  lost  holt,"  she  said.  "I  couldn't  bear  it,  with  her 
husband's  dying  and  leaving  the  coast  clear.  Don't  blame 
him"  she  urged  (and  meant  poor,  meek  Van  Buren);  "he 
don't  know  anything  about  it,  not  a  mite;  he's  as  innocent 
as  the  angels." 

I  was  afraid  she  would  have  hysterics,  and  I  gave  her  my 
handkerchief  to  wipe  her  tears.  When  I  had  calmed  her 
down  and  torn  up  the  check  at  her  entreaty,  she  rose  and 
announced  to  me : 

"Say,  I  might  as  well  tell  you,  I'm  going  to  have  a  baby. 
I  suppose  you  thought  I  was  too  old.  Well,  I  don't  seem 
to  be;  and  I'm  going  to  call  it  for  you,  even  if  it's  a  boy;  I 
don't  keer — we'll  bring  it  up  together." 

Under  the  circumstances  I  forgave  her,  and  when  she 
went  out  finally  I  felt  less  alone. 

My  part  the  next  few  days  grew  less  easy  to  assume. 
There  were  many  ways  in  which  Stephen  seemed  to  need 
me  still.  He  was  absorbed  in  the  tariff  problem  with  the 
others,  and  men  went  nearly  crazy  over  it  in  the  Senate, 
and  they  sat  all  day  and  away  into  the  night.  My  husband 
grew  more  and  more  liberal  in  his  views,  and  appeared,  little 
by  little,  to  be  fired  by  an  idealism  of  which  he  had  given  no 
indication  before.  He  read  an  extraordinary  amount  dur- 
ing the  hours  when  he  should  have  been  asleep.  Our  rooms 
269 


A  SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

adjoined,  and  I  could  hear  him  walking  the  floor  and  talking 
aloud.  He  gave  his  brain  no  rest.  One  night,  at  half-past 
three,  he  came  into  my  room,  and  said: 

"I  can't  sleep,  Esther."  He  had  a  book  open  in  his  hand. 
He  lit  the  lamp  at  my  side  and  drew  up  a  chair,  and  when 
he  had  made  himself  comfortable  he  said:  "Listen  to  this 
subtle,  far-reaching  gospel.  What  a  horror  it  makes  the 
close  greed  of  a  single  nation  seem;  America  with  its 
avaricious  doors  closed  against  the  trade  of  the  world!" 

And  he  read  aloud  to  me  something  from  Adam  Smith. 
His  voice  was  wonderful,  and  his  face,  too.  As  I  lay  there 
listening  I  had  my  clearest  sight  of  my  husband's  idealism 
and  his  poetry  of  mind.  Over  and  over  again  as  he  read, 
and  when  he  interrupted  himself  to  speak,  I  thought  to 
myself  with  a  pang:  "I  ought  to  have  let  him  write  his  book, 
and  not  have  urged  him  to  accept  the  nomination  for 
Governor  of  Nevada!" 

"Are  you  asleep  ?"  he  asked  me,  suddenly,  with  so  much 
pain  in  his  voice  that  I  was  grateful  to  be  able  to  say: 

"Heavens!  Not  when  there's  a  thing  like  that  to  listen 
to!" 

He  laid  his  book  down  open  on  his  knee  and  lit  a  fresh 
cigar,  smiling  through  the  smoke  at  his  new  ideas. 

"This  new  point  of  view  of  mine,"  he  murmured,  "will 
cost  me  my  seat  in  the  United  States  Senate."  Then  he 
quoted  in  Greek  or  Latin  something  about  man's  fears. 
"Esther,  I  shall  go  in  for  free  trade,"  he  said,  and  as  I 
answered,  "I  should  think  you  would,  Stephen!"  he  lifted 
his  eyebrows,  and  asked,  sharply,  "Why  do  you  think  so  ?" 
and  I  answered,  "Why,  because  it's  right,  isn't  it?" 

"You  don't  remind  me  of  what  my  constituents  will  say," 
he  went  on,  looking  at  me  curiously,  "and  my  uncle.  You 
270 


A   SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

don't  tell  me  the  face  of  the  whole  country  will  be  turned 
against  me,  and  that  I  am  preparing  to  block  myself  out  of 
American  political  history.  You  don't  tell  me  this,  or  that 
I  am  a  romantic  fool!" 

And  by  his  accent  and  his  expression  I  understood  that 
she  had  reminded  him  of  just  these  things. 

He  touched  the  book  he  held,  and  went  on: 

"This  has  interested  you,  Esther  ?"  And  I  told  him  that 
I  thought  it  was  perfectly  beautiful;  and  he  asked  me  not 
to  mention  his  sentiments  or  anything  he  had  said  to  me, 
as  outwardly  he  had  taken  no  decided  stand. 

"I  am  feeling  my  way,  my  dear  Esther,  and  I  begin  to 
find  that  for  a  man  like  me  the  Senate  is  a  shell." 

He  went  to  his  own  room,  the  book  under  his  arm  and 
his  cigar  smoke  heavy  on  the  air.  I  liked  it,  and  went  to 
sleep  drinking  in  the  fragrance. 

In  an  hour  he  was  back  again.  I  saw  he  couldn't  sleep, 
and  he  remained  talking  with  me  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

"I  am  passing  through  a  crisis,  Esther — mental  and 
spiritual,  if  you  like.  Sleep  and  food  are  as  though  they 
were  not;  but  now  that  I  speak  of  food,  I  see  that  I  am 
fiendishly  hungry!  What  do  you  think  you  could  find  me  ?" 

I  went  down-stairs  and  managed  to  get  him  a  little 
luncheon;  it  took  time,  and  when  I  came  up  he  was  lying 
on  my  bed  sound  asleep,  the  light  full  in  his  eyes.  I  made 
it  dark  and  covered  him  as  well  as  I  could,  and  went  myself 
to  his  room. 

For  a  week  neither  of  us  slept  between  two  and  four,  and 
there  was  something  on  every  night  in  the  way  of  dinners. 
I  often  went  alone,  as  the  tariff  discussion  kept  my  husband 
so  closely  at  the  Capitol,  and  when  he  was  not  with  his 
party  he  was  with  Mrs.  Tempest.  He  grew  more  rest- 
271 


A   SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

less,  more  nervous,  and  what  he  didn't  prepare  in  his 
committee-rooms  he  prepared  at  my  bedside.  I  had  the 
feeling  that  she  was  against  his  new  point  of  view,  and 
Stephen  was  so  honest  and  so  clear  in  his  own  mind  that  I 
was  sure  nothing  would  alter  him  or  affect  him,  and  I  began 
to  understand  that  he  found  it  sympathetic  to  carve  out  his 
dreams  by  my  side. 


CHAPTER   LVII 

WAS  sitting  dictating  a  lot  of  letters  to  Van 
Buren  when  Senator  Bellars  sent  up  word  to 
ask  if  he  could  see  me,  and  although  his  visits 
were  no  surprise  as  a  rule,  this  one  was  unex- 
pected, for  he  had  been  seriously  ill,  and  no 
one  had  bothered  him  much  about  politics.  This  sudden  call 
made  me  think  back  to  Brackettsville,  when  the  servant  had 
fetched  me  up  his  card  the  first  day  in  her  soapy  fingers. 
Van  Buren  with  my  letters  and  his  note-book  slipped  out  in 
his  quiet  way  as  Senator  Bellars  came  in.  He  was  seventy- 
two  then,  and  a  magnificent  old  man — splendid  white  hair, 
thick  as  a  bush,  and  keen  eyes  hiding  behind  shaggy  brows. 
He  kissed  me;  he  often  did;  he  was  tender  with  me,  and  I 
could  count  the  times  tenderness  had  flown  in  at  my  win- 
dows. He  had  been  housed  for  six  weeks  and  we  had 
seen  him  there,  but  politics  had  not  been  mentioned  to  him — 
his  doctors  had  forbidden  it. 

"Now  tell  me,"  he  said,  sharply,  "what  the  deuce  does 
this  mean  about  Stephen  ?" 

"He's  at  the  Capitol  now,"  I  answered;  "he  didn't  have 
any  idea  you  would  be  out  to-day." 

"He's   making  a   fool  of  himself,   Esther.     God   alone 

knows  what  materials  have  gone  toward  constructing  that 

mercurial,  ill-balanced,  talented  mind.     As  far  as  I  can  see, 

Stephen  is  now  on  the  road  to  political  ruin  as  fast  as  he 

273 


A    SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 

can  go.  Why,  he  has  lost  the  sense  and  spirit  of  the  coun- 
try! I  really  believe  he  is  going  insane.  I  understand  that 
he  caught  the  Vice-President's  eye  long  enough  to-day  to 
give  vent  to  some  lunatic  fanciful  ideas  that  were  almost  the 
heralds  of  a  free-trade  polemic.  He  has  a  disorganized 
mind,  my  dear  child.  You'll  laugh  at  me  if  I  say  that  your 
husband  is  going  to  stand  for  free  trade  at  this  moment  of 
the  country's  policy." 

Stephen's  uncle  waited  a  minute,  and  I  didnt  laugh. 

"You  don't  realize,  of  course,  what  it  means,  Esther. 
He  will  ruin  himself  with  his  party." 

I  interrupted  him  to  say  that  whatever  Stephen  did  he  was 
sincere,  and  the  Senator  repeated,  scornfully: 

"Sincere?  He's  a  sentimentalist  and  a  dreamer.  I'm 
beginning  to  think  he  is  out  of  his  career  here.  Sentimen- 
tality doesn't  go  in  politics  or  in  anything  else." 

I  said  that  Stephen  wasn't  pledged  to  any  tariff  plat- 
form for  his  State,  and  his  uncle  returned : 

"No,  not  pledged;  the  industries  of  Nevada  aren't  those 
that  will  make  the  State  a  heavy  sufferer  by  any  tariff  bill. 
He  doesn't  realize  that  he  is  not  an  individual,  but  a  party. 
High  tariff  is  an  unwritten  law  of  the  times,  and  every  man's 
duty  is  to  promote  it." 

I  said:  "I  think  Nevada  leaves  things  pretty  much  in 
Stephen's  hands;  they  worship  him." 

Senator  Bellars  changed  his  position  on  the  sofa,  and 
turned  round  to  me,  and  exclaimed:  "You  don't  seem  to 
realize,  my  dear  woman,  that  he  is  going  to  ruin  himself." 

I  remember  very  well  what  my  husband  had  said  years 
ago  about  his  uncle's  timidity  in  questions  at  issue: 

"Everything  he  does  is  in  the  line  of  sentimental  emo- 
tionalism, egoism,  and — " 

274 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  was  knitting.  I  had  taken  up  my  work  when  Van 
Buren  went  out;  it  was  a  white  thing  and  small.  I  was 
helping  Cornelia. 

"Uncle,"  I  said,  "I  don't  believe  you  care  for  Stephen." 

Senator  Bellars  pulled  at  his  mustache  and  snorted: 

"Nonsense!" 

"You  don't  love  him,  anyway." 

He  growled  again.  "I  love  you,  Esther  Kirkland,"  he 
nodded  his  gray  head,  "dearly,  and  I  have  had  an  old- 
fashioned  anger  and  fury  on  me  for  some  time."  His  eyes 
were  on  my  work;  it  had  the  little  sleeves  in. 

"Don't  ask  me  what  I'm  making,"  I  told  him,  quickly, 
before  he  could  do  so.  "  It's  for  a  friend." 

"Humph!"  he  grunted,  got  out  his  cigars,  cut  one,  and  lit 
it.  "  I've  come  purposely  to  talk  to  you  alone  on  this  sub- 
ject." He  leaned  forward  eagerly.  "You  must  get  Steve 
out  of  this  state  of  mind.  Go  at  this,  Esther,  as  you've 
gone  at  everything  else,  and  save  your  husband."  He 
waited  a  moment  and  stopped,  and  I  knew  what  he  thought; 
it  was  strange  to  see  it  in  the  face  of  another  person,  and  it 
made  me  catch  my  breath.  I  knew  that  he  thought  sud- 
denly— perhaps  Esther  hasn't  any  influence  with  him  at  all! 
I  didn't  say  anything.  I  determined  that  he  should 
do  all  the  talking,  and  I  counted  aloud  as  I  turned  the  neck 
of  the  jacket 

His  eyes  left  my  face  as  he  said,  slowly: 
"Stephen,  I  believe,  would  never  have  arrived  at  this 
position  but  for  some  outside  influence.  'Cherchez  la 
femme —  '  He  waited.  "I  speak  to  you,"  he  went  on, 
slowly,  "as  I  would  speak  to  his  friend — his  sister — his 
mother." 

I  put  Cornelia's  baby's  jacket  down  and  I  looked  at  him. 
19  275 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"Speak  to  me  as  you  would  speak  to  Stephen's  wife, 
uncle;  that  is  what  I  am,  after  all." 

Looking  at  the  end  of  his  cigar,  he  answered,  shortly: 

"Well,  then,  I  can't  speak  to  you  at  all."  And  his  brows 
gathered  and  darkened  as  if  his  face  was  a  glass  that  re- 
flected a  storm. 

"Then  she'll  speak  to  you,  uncle.  You  mean  Mrs. 
Tempest  has  influenced  Stephen  to  change  his  party  and 
his  views  and  his  platform — to  go  on  more  boldly  in  his  way 
of  thinking  than  he  would  otherwise  have  dared  to  do  ?" 

He  replied,  slowly:  "Yes:  since  you  are  so  generous 
as  to  put  the  thing  in  words — yes." 

"Well,  then,"  I  said,  "I  think  she  is  to  be  admired." 

He  started  violently.  "God  bless  my  soul!"  he  cried, 
"are  you  entirely  mad  ?" 

"I  mean,  uncle,  that  to  do  such  things  is  what  a  woman 
is  good  for — to  urge  a  man  on,  to  help  him  to  be  big  enough 
to  dare,  in  spite  of  advantage  and  policy,  and  to  speak  out 
what  he  thinks,  to  change  his  views  whenever  he  thinks  he 
ought  to;  to  change  his  career  if  he  likes,  if  he  is  sure  it's 
what  he  wants — to  go  back  and  forth  until  he  finds  the  right 
place.  If  Mrs.  Tempest  has  done  this  for  Stephen,  if  she 
is  doing  it,  why,  she's  a  good  influence." 

The  Senator  could  hardly  sit  still.  He  was  slapping  his 
knee.  "Why,  you're  perfectly  crazy!"  he  cried.  "You 
see  your  husband  ruining  himself  with  his  party — ruining 
himself  with — "  He  got  up. 

And  I  said:  "Wait  until  you  see  Stephen;  you  haven't 
heard  his  side.  Wait."  And  he  caught  at  this  eagerly. 

"I  only  hope  he  has  a  side.  I  hope  he  is  only  going 
through  a  phase;  but  his  fantastic  mind  is  not  to  be  relied 
upon." 

276 


A   SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  came  back  to  me,  for  he  had  been  walking  around  in 
his  old  excited  way,  weak  as  he  was,  and  he  sat  down  again. 
"You  astound  me!  I  don't  know  what  you're  made  of — 
what  you  mean!"  He  cleared  his  throat.  "You  refer  to 
the  influence  of  another  woman  in  your  husband's  life — of, 
as  you  call  it,  her  'urging  him  on';  you  speak  of  her  with 
a  calmness,  a  tranquillity — : '  He  paused. 

"How  would  you  have  me  speak  ?" 

And  he  burst  out:  "You  astound  me!  When  a  woman 
loves  a  man,  if  she  does  love  him,  she  doesn't  admit  or 
tolerate  the  presence  in  his  life  of  another  woman." 

"What  does  she  do  ?"  And  as  he  stared  at  me  I  answered 
for  myself:  "I've  been  wondering.  She  makes  scenes  and 
cries,  but  I  really  can't  see  that  that  does  much  good;  she 
keeps  him  awake  at  night  and  helps  the  scandal  along,  and 
then  she  goes  away  or  she  sends  him  away — : 

He  interrupted  me.  "Why,  you  speak  as  though  you  ac- 
cepted the  fact  for  a  fact — that  Stephen — "  Watching  my 
face  intently,  he  emphasized,  slowly:  "You  compliment  this 
woman  on  her  influence  over  your  husband — I  don't  un- 
derstand you.  You  asked  me  if  /  loved  Stephen — " 

I  interrupted  him.  "If  he  owes  his  stimulus  to  a  com- 
panionship which,  in  spite  of  policy  and  interest,  makes  him 
hold  his  own  views — if  he  owes  this  to  Mrs.  Tempest,  she 
has  cause  to  be  proud  of  him.  But,  uncle,  I  don't  think  it's 
the  case." 

And  my  husband's  uncle  caught  quickly  at  this,  and  said: 
"You  think,  then,  that  he  has  nothing  but  his  own  dreamer's 
brain  to  aid  his  folly  ?" 

And  I  answered:  "I  think  Stephen  is  working  out  his 
destiny  without  Mrs.  Tempest's  intellectual  help.  You 
don't  know,  perhaps,  that,  although  her  husband  was  a  low- 
277 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

tariff  man,  she  is  a  high-tariff  advocate,  and  I  don't  believe 
that  she  has  anything  to  do  with  Stephen's  state  of  mind." 

Senator  Bellars  thought  for  a  few  moments,  then  he  said : 
"I  presented  her  to  you.  You  would  have  met  her  anyway, 
but  I  gave  you  to  her."  He  hesitated,  and  looked  at  me 
with  deep  affection.  "I'm  not  speaking  to  his  sister  or  his 
friend  ?"  he  questioned. 

And  I  replied:  "No;  only  to  his  wife." 

He  put  his  arm  around  me  and  drew  me  to  him  and 
kissed  me  on  the  hair,  and  I  leaned  my  head  against  his 
breast  as  though  he  had  been  my  father.  After  a  little  while 
I  couldn't  help  thinking,  for  I  was  practical,  "If  he  knew 
how  I  felt  about  free  trade  he  wouldn't  want  me  here,"  so 
I  sat  up  and  wiped  my  eyes. 


CHAPTER  LVIII 

HE  strain  of  the  times  during  the  tariff  debate 
everybody  knows,  but  I  don't  think  Stephen 
would  have  been  so  nervous  and  worn  out  if 
it  hadn't  been  that  he  was  going  through  a 
great  change  more  vital  than  the  question  at 
issue.  Much  of  the  time  he  seemed  to  me  like  a  thirsty 
man  seeking  for  a  pool  of  water  to  quench  him,  and  I  used 
to  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  he  could  find  something 
which  would  bring  him  peace,  no  matter  what  it  might  be. 
One  day,  when  I  knew  that  the  session  had  closed  and 
that  the  Capitol  was  deserted,  he  didn't  come  home  to  dinner 
and  never  sent  me  any  word.  I  had  a  dinner  at  the  house 
myself,  and  when  I  went  up-stairs  at  eleven-thirty  to  my 
room  I  found  my  husband  there.  He  had  come  in  early,  and 
had  ordered  his  table  and  papers  put  by  my  bed,  and 
there  he  sat  working  and  writing.  I  undressed  in  the  little 
room,  and,  finally,  when  he  called  me,  I  went  to  bed  and 
fell  off  asleep,  and  he  wrote  on.  When,  much  later,  I 
wakened  he  was  sitting  there  pale  and  absorbed,  and  I  got 
up  and  made  him  some  hot  clam  broth  over  a  lamp,  for 
since  his  midnight  watches  I  had  kept  something  ready. 
Then,  after  he  had  begun  his  work  again,  I  fell  asleep  for 
good,  and  when  I  waked  at  seven  he  was  gone.  He  hadn't 
been  to  bed  at  all  that  night,  but  bathed  and  dressed  and 
went  horseback  riding  in  the  Circle  with  her. 
279 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  never  saw  him  at  all  that  day  except  in  the  afternoon, 
when  I  went  up  into  the  Senate  and  sat  in  the  part  of  the 
Members'  Gallery  where  there  was  always  a  place  for  me. 
Mrs.  Tempest  was  also  in  one  of  the  galleries,  in  light 
mourning,  with  violets.  She  was  pale,  and  looked  strained 
and  beautiful.  It  wasn't  needful  for  me  to  see  her  or  her 
me.  When  Stephen  came  in  I  didn't  care  to  look  at  any- 
thing else,  for  he  sat  in  his  chair  before  his  desk,  leaning 
his  head  on  his  hand,  and  I  couldn't  but  think  how  un- 
like the  rest  he  was  —  he  looked  so  young  among  them, 
— so  slender,  and  the  hand  holding  his  cheek  was  the 
hand  of  a  poet,  and  not  a  statesman's  hand.  There  was 

a  stupid  altercation  on  between  Senator  A and  Senator 

B ,  and  finally — I  could  tell  he  had  been  waiting  for  it 

— Stephen  caught  the  Vice-President's  eye  and  made  his 
sign,  and  rose. 

There  was  a  stir.  He  didn't  say  much,  but  he  said  it 
swiftly,  and  clearly  he  attracted  the  attention,  and  it  was 
just  following  on,  still  shielded  and  subtle  and  hidden, 
a  sort  of  levelling  of  mountains,  a  sort  of  challenging  of 
different  ways  and  means.  He  almost  seemed  to  ignore  the 
personalities  and  powers  around  him — he  was  making  a 
big  preparation  for  something  to  come,  and  I  understood 
and  wondered  if  his  uncle  did.  I  glanced  over  at  the  other 
woman,  who  sat  so  beautiful  and  pale  and  proud;  she  was 
ambitious  for  my  husband,  and  she  was  troubled.  And  I 
was  ambitious  for  him,  and  I  was  glad! 

When  we  went  out  into  the  rotunda  I  found  myself  side 
by  side  with  Mary  Tempest,  and  knew  I  should  have  to 
speak.  My  limbs  seemed  encased  in  ice,  with  a  fire  burning 
under  the  cold.  She  spoke  first — I  was  grateful  to  her. 
She  asked  me  the  name  of  the  Senator  replacing  the 
280 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

Senator  from  Missouri,  who  had  died,  and  I  told  her. 
She  never  met  my  eyes;  and  as  though  he  were  search- 
ing for  one  of  us,  at  any  rate,  my  husband,  with  his 
uncle,  came  out.  Before  they  reached  us  they  stopped, 
and  Stephen  went  back  to  his  committee-room  and  Mr. 
Bellars  joined  us.  He  asked  us  both  if  we  were  dining 
at  the  White  House,  and  when  we  said  yes  his  voice  was 
cold,  and  he  suggested  walking  home  with  me;  and  he 
bowed  to  Mrs.  Tempest  as  though  she  were  a  queen  to 
whom  he  wouldn't  be  a  subject  for  anything,  and  he  put 
his  arm  through  mine  as  though  I  belonged  to  him,  and  we 
marched  away! 

My  husband  didn't  come  in  that  afternoon,  nor  in  time 
for  dinner,  and  the  fact  that  we  were  to  dine  at  the  Executive 
Mansion  troubled  me  for  his  negligence.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  make  of  it,  for  this  was  something  he  would  not 
have  done,  I  felt  sure,  under  any  ordinary  circumstances. 
I  sent  word  to  say  that  we  were  detained  by  illness — a  hur- 
ried note;  and  coming  as  it  did  with  such  rudeness  on  the 
top  of  Stephen's  new,  exaggerated  policy — well,  I  didn't 
care!  I  only  wondered  where  he  could  be. 

With  her,  of  course.  Perhaps  the  crisis  had  come — and 
without  any  move  on  my  part  they  had  gone  together.  I 
didn't  send  word  to  his  uncle — I  decided  to  wait.  Cornelia 
was  away  for  a  month  at  the  sea,  fairly  pushed  out  of  the 
house  by  my  entreaties.  I  had  daily  letters  from  her,  wails 
of  homesickness.  I  sat  down-stairs,  dressed  as  I  was  for 
dinner,  and  waited  for  what  I  did  not  know.  And  at 
midnight  Senator  Bellars  himself  stopped  in  on  the  way 
home. 

"How  is  Stephen?"  he  asked.     "Is  he  really  very  ill? 
What  are  you  doing  down  here  ?" 
281 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

I  asked  who  was  there. 

And  he  answered:  "Everybody  but  Mrs.  Tempest;  it 
seems  she  had  a  sudden  indisposition,  too." 

He  waited,  staring  at  me  from  under  his  shaggy  brows, 
and  as  he  did  so  an  anger,  sharp,  furious,  loyal,  came  over 
my  anguish,  and  I  said: 

"I  guess  Stephen  will  be  all  right  to-morrow;  he's  on  a 
dreadful  strain." 

Senator  Bellars  said  nothing  more,  just  stayed  a  second, 
and  if  he  wondered  at  my  sitting  up  there  dressed  in  my 
dinner-dress,  waiting,  he  didn't  remark  it. 

It  was  explained,  then:  they  were  both  absent,  it  would 
be  a  scandal,  and  coming  on  the  end  of  his  speech — absent 
from  the  President's  dinner.  Somehow  the  room  where  he 
had  sat  writing  till  morning  so  many  times  seemed  impos- 
sible for  me  to  seek.  And  in  my  little  boudoir  I  took  off 
my  handsome  dress  and  let  it  fall;  I  had  told  the  colored 
maid  who  served  me  in  Cornelia's  place  to  go  to  bed. 
But  I  had  to  fetch  my  night  things  at  length,  and  I 
opened  the  door  into  my  bedroom. 

Stephen  was  standing  there  rigid,  like  a  frozen  man,  and 
white  as  the  risen  dead.  I  saw  there  was  something  wrong; 
he  stared  beyond  me  out  of  his  great  dark  eyes.  I  had 
the  feeling  that  if  I  spoke  to  him  suddenly  I  would  break 
him  as  though  he  were  a  reed,  so  I  went  over  and  quietly 
put  my  arm  round  his  shoulders,  and  said: 

"Stephen!" 

He  shuddered,  as  though  he  were  under  a  spell  which  I 
had  really  broken,  and  clung  to  the  bed's  foot  as  if  it  were  to 
save  him  from  destruction. 

"What  is  it,  Stephen?  What  is  it?  Can't  you  speak 
to  me  ?  Lean  on  me." 

282 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"Wait,  wait,"  he  said,  with  effort,  speaking  in  a  small, 
high  voice,  "don't  ask  me  any  questions.  Let  me  return 
slowly  to  life,  my  dear  girl."  He  found  he  could  stand 
without  the  bed's  support,  and  let  go.  Then  I  led  him 
gently  to  a  chair,  where  he  sat  down.  I  couldn't  give  him 
any  stimulants,  but  as  soon  as  I  could  I  warmed  him  some 
hot  bouillon,  and  he  went  on  in  the  same  queer  voice,  staring 
at  me  and  through  me: 

"  I  have  just  passed  through  the  most  terrible  experience  of 
my  life,  Esther.  After  leaving  you  and  my  uncle  this  after- 
noon I  went  to  my  committee-room,  and  until  this  moment, 
when  you  said  my  name,  I  have  had  no  consciousness — I 
don't  know  where  I've  been,  or  what  has  happened,  or  how 
I  got  here.  Don't  be  so  alarmed  " — he  smiled — "  it's  all  over; 
nothing  but  brain-fag — not  unique,  by  any  means.  I  expect 
I  must  have  remained  in  the  Capitol  until  late,  and  then, 
without  volition,  walked  home  and  let  myself  in  with  my 
latch-key,  and  no  one  saw  me;  but  I  came  here — "  He 
repeated  the  word  gently,  and  smiled,  and  looked  around 
at  my  room.  Then  he  drew  a  long  sigh  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.  He  wouldn't  hear  of  my  calling  any 
one  or  sending  for  a  doctor,  and  I  felt,  myself,  as  if  I 
couldn't  bear  any  one  to  come  in  upon  him  so.  I 
helped  him  undress,  and  when  he  was  ready  he  turned 
toward  my  bed,  and  I  led  him  there,  and  when  I  had  made 
him  comfortable  and  warm  he  turned  over  on  his  arm 
and  fell  asleep  like  a  boy  thoroughly  tired  out. 

I  put  on  my  dressing-gown  and  waited  with  the  light 
turned  low,  as  a  mother  might.  He  had  sat  writing  there 
at  this  table,  in  this  chair,  many  hours,  and  I  couldn't  but 
wonder  if  every  man  in  the  nation  worked  as  he  did — I 
supposed  they  did,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  was  a 
283 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

specially  fine  kind  of  labor;  and  I  wound  up  with  thinking 
that  I  had  told  the  truth  to  his  uncle  and  to  the  Presi- 
dent, and  whatever  Mrs.  Tempest's  indisposition  might 
have  been,  Stephen's  was  real,  and  he  was  safe  at 
home. 


CHAPTER  LIX 

HE  following  day  was  the  last  sitting  of  Con- 
gress, and  I  sat  in  the  gallery  waiting  to  hear, 
if  my  husband  should  speak.  He  had  slept 
late  and  I  gave  him  his  breakfast  in  bed;  then 
he  had  risen  and  dressed,  and  gone  to  the 
Capitol,  assuring  me  he  was  all  right  and  not  to  worry.  I 
didn't  worry,  even  when  I  saw  how  pale  he  was,  for  he  was 
entirely  composed.  Mrs.  Tempest  was  in  her  place  as 
well.  I  afterward  knew  that  she  had  been  in  his  com- 
mittee-room to  see  him  before  he  went  into  the  Senate- 
room. 

When  Stephen  rose  there  was  a  perfect  hubbub  against 
letting  him  speak.  It  was  a  long  time  before  they 
would  let  him  make  himself  heard,  and  twice  he  was 
refused  permission.  Anybody  who  wants  to  read  that 
speech  on  free  trade  by  Senator  Kirkland,  lanced  right 
in  the  middle  of  the  hottest  high-tariff  war  that  has  ever 
been  in  our  country — anybody  who  wants  to  may  get 
it  from  the  Congressional  Library.  I  thought  it  was  per- 
fectly beautiful.  There  wasn't  a  sound  after  the  first  mur- 
mur, when  he  came  so  evidently  out  for  free  trade,  by 
his  stand,  as  far  as  anybody  could  prophesy,  damning  his 
chances  in  his  State  for  any  further  recognition.  It  seemed, 
of  course,  that  he  handed  in  his  resignation,  that  he  stepped 
out  of  politics.  His  charm  was  so  great,  his  voice  and  his 
285 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

words  so  simple,  so  convincing,  that  even  his  enemies  were 
obliged  to  listen  as  if  they  were  bewitched.  It  was  the 
longest  speech  of  the  afternoon,  and  I  watched  Senator 
Bellars  as  he  sat  there,  his  elbows  on  his  desk,  his  head  in 
his  hands,  and  his  eyes  on  Stephen.  He  just  thought  that, 
talented  as  he  was,  my  husband  was  insane. 

He  couldn't  but  admire  him. 

When  Stephen  had  finished  and  sat  down,  the  opponent 
party  broke  forth  against  him  in  the  speech  of  Senator 
Hendricks,  and  it  was  like  turning  a  battering-ram  on  a  flag 
fluttering  in  the  breeze.  I  couldn't  but  feel  it  wouldn't 
have  reached  him  anywhere. 

When  I  went  out  later  I  saw  Mr.  Collins  coming  toward 
me,  and  as  he  shook  hands,  he  said:  "I  have  never  heard 
such  an  appeal  to  the  ideal!"  By  his  face  and  his  words, 
though  he  was  awfully  excited,  I  couldn't  tell  what  he 
meant  or  how  he  felt.  And  I  went  home  quickly,  alone, 
through  the  streets  and  up  to  my  little  room,  and  threw 
off  my  things.  It  was  very  warm,  late  as  it  was  in  the 
evening,  and  I  thought  that  the  room  smelled  unusually 
sweet:  on  my  table  was  a  florist's  box  addressed  to  me.  It 
was  a  great  bunch  of  violets.  It  gave  me  a  sudden  feeling 
of  sickness — a  faintness.  Those  flowers  meant  just  one 
thing  to  me.  At  first  I  thought  she  must  have  sent  them, 
and  when  I  saw  my  husband's  card,  I  decided  they  had 
come  to  me  by  mistake.  I  couldn't  believe  that  he  would 
transfer  that  special  order  to  me.  They  lay  there,  lovely 
and  dark  and  grateful,  rare  for  the  season  of  summer,  and 
as  I  sat  there  fanning  I  got  used  to  them  and  to  their 
smell.  In  a  little  while  my  husband  came  in. 

"Esther,  can  you  get  ready  to  start  for  Nevada  to-night? 
I'm  going  out  as  fast  as  I  can.  Collins  is  coming  with 
286 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

us.  I  want  to  sink  in  the  old  hole,  Esther.  I  want  to 
offer  my  body  up  to  the  arrows." 

It  was  on  my  tongue  to  say,  "But  you  don't  want  me, 
do  you  ?"  But  the  fact  that  he  had  asked  me  was  enough, 
and  the  only  thing  that  hurt  me  in  leaving — for  I  wanted 
to  go — was  leaving  Cornelia  Van  Buren. 

We  got  off  in  two  hours'  time,  flying  westward,  and  my 
husband  was  as  gay  as  a  boy,  and  perfectly  delighted  to  be 
gone.  When  we  were  sitting  out  in  the  observation-car, 
Stephen  said  to  me: 

"Did  you  get  those  flowers  from  Pearson's  this  after- 
noon ?" 

"Yes,  some  violets  came." 

"Well?"     He  waited. 

I  didn't  know  what  to  say — they  were  personal,  associated, 
thrilling  to  me,  and  sad.  But  I  could  see  that  he  didn't 
feel  it  so  at  all,  that  he  just  sent  them  because  they  were  vio- 
lets, and  nothing  more.  I  wondered  what  on  earth  they 
could  ever  have  meant  to  him,  month  after  month,  on  the 
breast  of  the  other  woman.  What  could  they  have  signi- 
fied that  he  could  hand  them  now  so  simply  to  his  wife  ? 
And  I  thought  to  myself:  "I  believe  there's  some  deeper 
reason  than  I  know  or  see,  for  he  is  so  clever  and  so  full  of 
ideas." 

"  Did  you  want  me  to  wear  them,  Stephen  ?"  I  asked 
him,  and  he  smoked  a  few  moments,  and  then  answered: 

"Why,  I  wanted  you  to  do  with  them  whatever  pleased 
you,  my  dear  girl." 

"I  put  them  in  water  in  my  room,  on  your  table,  where 
you  wrote  your  beautiful  speech." 

It  was  a  fine  night,  and  the  car  went  swiftly  through  it,  and 
I  couldn't  see  him  in  the  dark,  out  of  which  he  said  to  me: 
287 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

"I'm  glad  you  liked  my  speech.  Thank  you  for  telling 
me.  I've  been  waiting  for  you  to  speak  of  it." 

And  somehow,  when  he  said  this,  I  realized  that  I  hadn't 
mentioned  a  word  to  him  about  his  speech  in  the  hurry 
and  the  rush  of  getting  away,  of  giving  directions  and 
orders,  and  of  the  excitement  in  feeling  that  he  was  go- 
ing with  me — going  alone  with  me  and  far  away. 


CHAPTER   LX 

E  had  decided,  Mr.  Collins  and  I,  that  not 
one  word  of  politics  was  to  be  mentioned 
between  us  on  the  way  out.  Mr.  Collins  told 
me  that  he  had  personally  telegraphed,  with 
the  reporters,  my  husband's  speech  to  Carson 
City.  Going  westward  we  passed  into  the  yellowy  harvest. 
Mr.  Collins  and  my  husband  were  company  for  each  other. 
I  was  glad  to  be  alone,  for  I  was  thinking  and  planning,  and 
those  days  on  the  cars  I  had  time  to  set  things  in  order  as 
I  had  not  been  able  to  do  in  Washington,  when  things 
were  going  on  around  me  all  the  time,  and  I  couldn't 
get  near  to  them  without  being  hurt.  Stephen  had  been 
going  on,  going  on,  these  years  at  a  great  pace;  from  a 
worthless  citizen  he  had  climbed  to  be  Governor  of  the 
State,  and  Senator,  and  I  began  to  see  that  in  my  way  I 
had  gone  along  too. 

Before  we   reached ,  where  you  make   the  change 

for  Carson  City,  Mr.  Collins  came  to  me  and  asked  me  to 
talk  with  him  for  a  few  seconds. 

"I  shall  want  your  help,  Mrs.  Kirkland.  I  am  keeping 
his  telegrams  from  him;  he  has  an  idea  he  won't  be  able  to 
bear  this  reception  and  what  he  will  have  to  meet.  He  in- 
tends, he  tells  me,  laying  down  political  life.  If  things  are 
as  bad  as  he  thinks,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  it  would  be 
better  that  he  should  do  so." 
289 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

That  afternoon  my  husband  said  to  me:  "You  remember 
the  week  of  the  election  at  Carson  City,  Esther;  there  in 
that  hotel,  to  please  you,  I  took  up  politics.  Now  I  have 
been  coward  enough  to  fetch  you  back  here  to  stand  by  me 
while  I  lay  them  down.  I  couldn't  face  what  I  am  going 
through  without  you,  Esther." 

And  I  said:  "Perhaps  they  won't  let  you  give  it  up." 

And  he  retorted:  "Why,  don't  you  know  what  we  are  go- 
ing to  see  ?  I  can  only  say  to  you  what  I  would  not  say  to 
any  one  else  in  the  world:  the  temptation  to  me  to  address 
the  United  States  Senate  from  the  chair  I  sat  in  was  too 
strong.  I  have  acted  like  an  apostle,  not  like  a  public  ser- 
vant, and  I  am  going  to  pay  for  it  now." 

I  asked  him,  quickly:  "Stephen,  do  you  regret  it  ?" 

He  smiled  at  me  and  said:  "Why,  it's  a  wonderful  smit- 
ing off  of  the  chains  to  me."  And  he  asked  me  eagerly,  as 
a  boy  might  ask  for  a  lost  treasure:  "Esther,  you  didn't 
throw  away  Lucia  di  Siena,  did  you  ?  You  couldn't  re- 
member what  you  did  with  that  old  manuscript,  could 
you  ?" 

And  as  I  didn't  answer  he  was  too  kind  to  make  me  feel 
badly,  but  I  saw  his  face  fall  terribly.  He  gave  a  long  sigh, 
and  said:  "Never  mind,  never  mind." 

I  understood  him;  it  was  the  waking  again  of  the  old,  old 
talent,  the  real  one,  the  thing  hid  under  the  napkin,  the  real 
thing,  the  genius  of  him.  It  was  getting  too  alive  to  be 
killed  by  his  friends  and  his  wife;  I  began  to  see  the  light 
of  it  on  his  brow  and  in  his  eyes. 

I  can't  remember  all  he  said  that  day  about  his  schemes 

and  his  new  ideas  and  his  new  ideals,  and  the  figures  of 

speech  he  used  about  art  and  literature,  and  the  things  he 

said  about  materialism  dwarfing  the  soul. ...  He  said  he  was 

290 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

a  writer  born,  over  and  over  again,  and  that  he  would  turn 
like  a  thirsty  deer  to  a  stream  and  steep  himself  in  the  joy 
of  creation,  and  that  he  would  write  a  great  book.  As  he 
said  this  I  remembered  how  he  had  seemed  to  me  in  Wash- 
ington like  a  parched  creature  longing  for  the  source.  And 
yet  I  couldn't  get  my  mind  on  what  he  was  saying — it 
seemed  too  far  away. 

It  was  late  summer,  and  the  plains  were  ripe;  before  we 
passed  into  the  sterile  State  the  very  land  seemed  aching 
with  wheat  and  green  corn.  Our  train  was  poor;  we 
stopped  everywhere,  and  when  we  crossed  into  Nevada 
people  crowded  down  to  the  station,  to  the  junctions,  and  I 
saw  them,  and  the  freight  loading  and  unloading,  as  in  a 
dream.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  thousand  years  since  we'd 
gone  East  from  Nevada,  yet  it  was  only  three  years,  and  the 
woman  coming  back  there  in  that  train,  sitting  alone — 
Mr.  Collins  and  Stephen  were  ahead  in  a  seat — was  a  dif- 
ferent woman  from  the  one  who  had  gone  East  with  Senator 
Kirkland,  and  I  began  to  see  how  very  different  indeed 
she  was!  That  woman  was  an  animated  Duty,  and  the 
one  who  was  coming  West  was  nothing  but  a  woman. 
And  in  the  other  crisis  I  hadn't  known  what  to  do,  and 
yet  the  right  thing  to  do  came  easy.  It  was  different 
now.  I  knew  what  to  do,  and  yet  I  didn't  believe  I 
would  have  the  courage.  I  didn't  look  at  Stephen  in  the 
same  old  way,  and  I  couldn't  look  at  him  sitting  there 
smiling  and  gesturing  with  his  thin,  dark  hands  without  a 
thrill  at  my  heart,  and  that  and  a  determination  pushed 
me  on  to  a  selfhood  of  which  I  was  ignorant.  It  was  like  a 
goad  of  thorns. 

We  stopped,  it  seemed  for  years,  at  a  small  mid-country 
station  called  Nutfield,  though  the  only  fields  were  the 
20  291 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

prairies  lying  under  a  pale,  tender  sky.  Finally  Mr. 
Collins  left  us  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  when  he 
returned  he  told  us  that  we'd  have  to  go  to  Oretown  that 
night  and  put  up  there,  for  there  was  an  obstacle  on  the 
main  line  to  Carson  City,  and  the  train  only  went  as  far 
as  Oretown. 

Stephen  said:  "Well,  one  place  is  as  good  as  another  for 
them  to  begin  in,"  and  I  saw  that  he  was  horribly  nervous 
and  tired.  He  asked  Mr.  Collins  why  he  hadn't  given  him 
the  papers,  and  how  it  happened  no  wires  had  been  received. 
And  Mr.  Collins  told  Stephen  there  was  nothing  for  him, 
that  he  had  asked  along  the  line. 

When  we  got  out  at  the  Junction  at  eight  o'clock  there 
wasn't  a  soul  in  sight,  and  his  relief  was  keen.  He  told  me 
afterward  that  he  had  expected  to  be  greeted  by  hisses,  and 
that  the  people,  like  a  band  of  roughs,  were  going  to  line 
up  and  throw  mud  at  him,  or  something  to  that  effect! 

The  streets  were  empty,  and  old  Joe  Bangs's  buckboard 
was  there  to  carry  us  over  town.  The  only  thing  we 
noticed  in  the  way  of  a  demonstration  was  that  Joe's 
horse  had  an  American  flag  over  his  ear.  We  rattled 
away  through  the  thick  road  in  the  late  summer  twilight, 
and,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I  had  the  biggest  feeling  of 
rest  that  I'd  known  yet  in  going  back  to  a  place.  It  seemed 
to  me  like  I  was  going  home.  Firesides  had  been  tem- 
porary in  my  history,  and  there  had  always  been  so  many 
people  at  them  that  my  corner  had  been  out  of  the 
glow.  My  husband  didn't  even  jolly  old  Joe  —  he  was 
silent.  His  career  had  begun  here,  and  it  was  going  to 
end  here,  as  far  as  he  knew,  in  disgrace.  The  Cry  must 
have  had  his  speech  out  days  ago,  and  little  Oretown  was 
as  still  as  death  when  we  drove  into  it;  the  population  had 
292 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

gone  on  somewhere.  There  were  only  a  few  stragglers  in 
the  streets  when  we  passed  First  Hotel;  there  wasn't  a 
man  sitting  up  with  his  feet  on  the  rail  spitting  tobacco. 
I  heard  my  husband  ask: 

"What's  struck  the  town,  Joe?     The  cholera?" 

And  Joe  murmured  that  the  town  had  gone  to  Carson 
City  for  the  fair. 

Mr.  Collins  said:  "The  traffic  has  been  so  heavy  on  the 
branch  that  the  trains  have  stacked  up." 

As  we  drove  past  First  my  husband  touched  Joe  on  the 
shoulder.  "Hold  up  here." 

But  Mr.  Collins  said:  "No,  Kirkland,  it  seems  that  the 
old  house  has  been  fixed  for  you  for  the  night.  Some 
chap  got  wind  that  Mrs.  Kirkland  was  coming,  and  they've 
given  you  a  housewarming." 

It  seemed  to  beam  upon  us  from  the  windows  and  doors. 
There  wasn't  a  soul  to  greet  us,  but  it  stood  smiling  broadly. 
It  had  been  empty  for  a  year,  since  the  last  tenant  left;  we 
had  been  renting  it  furnished  all  along. 

Stephen  took  everything  quietly,  and  in  the  kitchen  the 
wife  of  First  Hotel's  proprietor  was  there  with  a  colored  girl, 
getting  supper.  I  couldn't  wait  to  get  up-stairs. 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  I  threw  the  windows  of  the 
west  room  open  and  looked  out  on  the  plain,  where  a  double 
track  of  glistening  rails  shot  out  and  away,  and  the  stars 
were  shining.  The  air  smelled  sweet,  and  my  heart  felt  as 
if  it  would  burst  in  my  breast.  They  had  fixed  the  rooms 
next  for  Stephen  and  Mr.  Collins,  and  on  my  bureau  was 
a  bunch  of  white  phlox  from  Richard  Baxfield's  garden  gone 
to  seed. 

Stephen  continued  absorbed  and  subdued.  Mr.  Collins, 
however,  was  in  great  spirits  and  jollied  him  up.  We  were 
293 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

all  glad  to  go  to  our  rooms  early,  and  on  in  the  night,  when 
a  shutter  banged  and  blew,  for  the  wind  rose,  I  went  into 
Stephen's  room,  and  his  window  was  wide  open  and  the 
air  blowing  on  him.  It  was  moonlight,  and  from  his  room 
you  could  see  the  garden,  dark  and  deserted.  Fanny's  hus- 
band and  the  past  entirely  faded  away,  and  only  this  mo- 
ment was  real  to  me.  Fast  as  things  had  gone,  and  big  as 
they  had  been,  nothing  had  been  quite  real  in  my  life  until 
these  last  few  months! 

I  closed  the  blinds.  My  husband  was  sleeping  pro- 
foundly, his  head  on  his  arm,  and  it  was  wonderful  to  think 
how  that  single  man  had  stood  up  there  with  a  country 
against  him  and  talked  about  "his  ideal."  Whether  they 
liked  the  pulse  or  not,  it  certainly  had  beaten  for  a  moment 
through  the  Senate.  The  quiet  of  Oretown,  and  its  deser- 
tion, seemed  to  me  like  a  kindness  of  fate,  to  let  him  rest 
here  and  take  a  breath  before  the  storm. 

We  took  the  first  train  out  next  day,  and  there  was  no 
station  between  Carson  City  and  Oretown  except  the  Junc- 
tion, in  the  heart  of  the  plains.  We  were  five  hours  late,  of 
course,  on  the  short  run,  and  it  was  night  before  we  crawled 
into  Carson  City  station. 

The  first  thing  I  heard  as  our  train  ran  in  was  a  clash  of 
music  and  the  roar  and  cries  of  voices.  The  music  broke 
suddenly  upon  us,  the  cries  were  so  loud  and  shaking, 
it  was  like  a  flood  that  turned  its  tides  upon  us  and 
shook  us  to  our  foundations.  The  sea-like  sound  and  the 
hurricane  came  surging  to  our  car,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew 
the  windows  were  full  of  faces  and  the  car  filled  up,  and 
people  were  carrying  banners  and  wore  rosettes  on  their 
coats.  There  was  something  terrible  about  it  and  over- 
294 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

powering.  We  had  the  car  to  ourselves,  and  Stephen  had 
been  sitting  alone  near  the  end.  I  saw  him  rise  and  stand 
.  .  .  the  people  surged  around  him,  and  I  saw  him  no  more. 

Seth  Collins  and  Colonel  Amos  Babcock,  president  of  the 
Carson  City  Central  Bank,  were  at  my  side,  and  Mr.  Collins 
said: 

"They've  got  him,  Mrs.  Kirkland;  you'll  have  to  give 
him  up  to  them;  he  belongs  to  Nevada!  We'll  look  out  for 
you." 

One  either  side  of  me  they  led  me  through  the  crowd, 
through  the  station,  gleaming  with  lights  and  resounding 
with  shouts.  There  was  a  landau  decorated  with  flags, 
and  flowers  waving,  and  we  made  our  way  through  the 
living  sea  and  I  was  put  into  the  carriage,  and  they  got  in 
after  me. 

"Look!  look!"  Colonel  Babcock  told  me;  "they're  carry- 
ing him  on  their  shoulders!  Can  you  see  him?  There, 
under  the  banner,  by  that  group  of  torches!" 

There  was  a  big  square  of  lights,  and  the  faces  were  lit 
up  by  the  flame.  I  could  see  my  husband  high  on  their 
shoulders;  his  head  was  bare,  and  he  was  speaking.  Then 
he  disappeared  with  the  torches  and  the  lights  and  the  mur- 
murs and  the  cries,  and  all  closed  in,  and  above  it  I  heard 
the  ringing  of  the  church-bells. 

Colonel  Babcock  said:  "You're  not  frightened,  are  you, 
Mrs.  Kirkland  ?" 

I  shook  my  head,  and  Mr.  Collins  said: 

"Mrs.  Kirkland  isn't  the  kind  to  be  frightened,  Colonel." 
And  he  told  me  that  all  along  the  journey  he  had  known 
what  the  sentiment  was.  "And  I  won't  say,"  he  laughed, 
"that  perhaps  it  didn't  get  its  start  right  from  Washington. 
I  won't  say  that  there  hasn't  been  a  sort  of  train  being 
295 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

laid  by  us  fellows  ever  since  your  husband  became  so  po- 
etical." 

We  passed  under  the  banners  and  arches  of  flags,  and  by 
the  side  of  our  carriage  the  band  walked,  playing  "March- 
ing Through  Georgia." 

I  asked  Colonel  Babcock:  "Has  Nevada  gone  free  trade 
with  Stephen  ?" 

And  he  exclaimed:  "Free  trade,  my  dear  lady!  I  don't 
think  Nevada  knows  what  that  means.  We're  a  country 
of  mines  and  gold,  very  sterile  and  yet  rich.  We  can  afford 
some  ideals.  We  really  ought  to  be  a  territory  and  not  a 
State;  at  any  rate,  it's  the  man  they're  going  for — they  want 
Kirkland,  policy  or  no  policy;  they'll  follow  him  where  he 
goes.  Look!"  he  said,  and  pointed  to  a  banner  that  hung  so 
low  it  nearly  touched  our  horses'  ears.  There  were  two 
caricature  faces — Stephen's  and  Seth  Collins's.  It  said: 

FOR  PRESIDENT,  19-,  STEPHEN  KIRKLAND 

LIBERAL   AND    HONEST    POLITICS 

FOR  GOVERNOR,  SETH  COLLINS 

And  this  was  the  way  the  city  welcomed  him,  and  I  wished 
Cornelia  Van  Buren  could  have  seen  the  procession.  She 
used  to  be  fond  of  them  in  the  past. 


CHAPTER    LXI 

IE  had  been  back  in  Oretown  in  the  dear  old 
house  ten  days.  After  the  demonstration,  as 
soon  as  I  could  steal  my  husband  away,  we 
returned  for  a  breathing-spell  to  the  smaller 
town  where  we  could  rest.  Stephen  was  worn 
out;  the  demonstration  had  "touched  him  profoundly,  over- 
whelmed him,  gone  down  into  his  soul,"  he  said.  "To  hear 
the  voice  of  your  fellow-beings  crying  your  name  in  affection, 
enthusiasm,  and  praise!  Why,  don't  listen  to  any  man  who 
tells  you  he  is  deaf  to  such  sounds,  Esther — they  are  sub- 
lime!" That  was  the  night  at  the  hotel  in  Carson  City, 
when  we  reached  our  rooms  at  last  and  he  put  his  head  down 
on  the  table  and  stayed  so,  his  face  buried  for  quite  a  while. 
Out  at  Oretown  he  slept  for  the  first  few  days;  then,  later, 
went  into  the  garden  and  read  there  in  the  arbor;  and  one 
afternoon,  when  he  lingered,  I  found  him  fishing  'way  up  the 
creek. 

He  was  himself  again,  and  that  evening  when  he  went  to 
his  room  I  followed  him,  for  I  thought  that  the  time  had  come. 
"You  feel  rested  now,  Stephen,  don't  you  ?" 
And  he  exclaimed:   "I  feel  new-born,  my  dear  girl — like 
a  child  in  a  new  universe.     Ever  since  I  touched  the  West 
this  time  golden  doors  have  opened.     I  have  gone  into  an 
Eldorado    out    of  which,    please    Heaven,   I    shall    never 
come.'* 

297 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

He  sat  down  on  the  window-sill,  his  head  against  the 
light.  There  were  whittlings  over  at  the  fireplace  and  on 
the  floor;  he  had  opened  a  whole  bunch  of  pencils,  and  held 
them  bristling  in  his  hand. 

"...  It's  astounding,  Esther,  how  we  go  on  from  phase 
to  phase  in  life,  to  find  each  vital  to  us  and  immutable,  until 
the  next  comes  and  we  lay  our  old  shells  down  and  gaze  in 
amazement  at  each  new  self,  dazzled  (if  we  would  only  con- 
fess it)  by  the  new  lustre  on  our  new  wings.  It's  right  this 
should  be  so,  otherwise  we  would  not  work  for  each  illusion, 
delusion,  inspiration,  resurrection — as  you  will." 

His  face  clouded,  and  he  stopped,  for  he  saw  an  expres- 
sion on  my  face  which,  for  once,  he  did  not  understand. 

"What  is  it,  Esther?  You've  got  something  to  say  to 
me  ?" 

"Yes,  Stephen.  You  asked  me  in  Carson  City,  before 
we  went  to  Washington,  about  Petey,  and  I  never  told  you. 
He's  married." 

"Well,"  my  husband  laughed,  relieved,  "Petey  might 
have  a  worse  history!  Was  it  a  native  woman  ?" 

"Yes.     I  thought  you  would  feel  disgraced." 

"By  no  means!  I've  always  considered  that  at  least  in 
the  matter  of  choosing  a  life  companion  a  man's  taste  should 
be  unquestioned,  even  as  to  color!  No  doubt  the  girl  is  a 
princess,  as  they  often  are  out  there,  and  if  you  should  ask 
them  here  she  would  refuse  to  eat  with  us — let's  invite 
them." 

"No,  I've  decided  to  go  out  and  see  them.  I  mean  to  go 
to  my  brother." 

He  turned  pale  in  the  flushing  light,  even,  that  fell  on  him 
with  the  sunset. 

"I  don't  follow  you,  my  dear  girl."  Then  he  stopped. 
298 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

"That's  not  quite  sincere!  I  suppose  I  do  know  what 
you  mean." 

His  saying  this  gave  me  courage,  and  I  said:  "I've  stayed 
on  and  on,  till  now,  ever  since  Albany,  because  I  thought 
you  needed  me." 

"I  need  you  now,"  he  said,  and  I  shook  my  head. 

"Why  not,  pray?"  he  asked. 

And  I  said:  "  Because  you've  found  your  balance  and  you 
are  a  great  man.  The  country  has  proved  how  it  regards 
you." 

He  looked  down  at  his  pencils,  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow,  and  started  to  speak,  then  put  out  his  hand 
to  take  mine.  I  gave  it  him,  and  he  held  it,  then  let 
it  fall. 

"If  I  began  to  ask  your  forgiveness,  Esther,  I'd  have  to 
go  back  to  Wall  Street,  when  I  first  asked  you  to  lead  my 
miserable  steps — when  I  began  to  lean  on  your  kind 
shoulder — " 

"Don't  begin,  Stephen;   it's  not  that  I  ever  wanted." 

And  he  nodded  slowly.  "I  know  you  well  enough 
never  to  have  begun!"  And  he  went  on:  "If  it's  any  satis- 
faction to  hear  me  say  that  no  man  has  ever  paid  more  fully 
for  his  weakness — " 

"You're  not  weak,  Stephen,  and  I  don't  like  to  hear  you 
say  so.  Just  let  everything  lie  as  it  is — as  it  has  been,  with- 
out blame." 

He  asked,  quickly:  "And  you  go  to  Samoa  ?" 

"Yes." 

I  waited  so  long  here  that  my  heart  grew  cold.  I  saw 
myself  take  the  train  from  the  Junction,  take  the  ship,  and 
Stephen  return  to  Washington  alone. 

"You've  been  unhappy,  then?"  he  mused,  at  length. 
299 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"You've  stood  by  me  through  the  long  day  and  been  un- 
happy yourself,  Esther  ?" 

"If  you  had  asked  me  this  out  here  in  Oretown  before  we 
went  East,  Stephen,  I  couldn't  have  answered  as  I  can  now. 
I  was  too  absorbed  in  your  career — in  your  life,  in  your 
struggle — to  know  or  think  how  7  felt." 

"Well — well — and  you  no  longer  are  absorbed  in  these 
things  ?" 

"No;  not  so  that  I  can't  feel  —  and  know  that  I  am 
feeling." 

He  glanced  at  me  quickly  with  his  great  eyes. 

"I  think  my  courage  has  given  out,  Stephen,"  and  I  tried 
to  say  it  lightly  and  to  smile. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hand  a  minute,  then  ex- 
claimed, angrily: 

"This  is  all  nonsense,  all  nonsense — ridiculous!"  And 
as  quickly  changed  his  tone,  and  half  cried:  "A  man  with 
a  temperament  like  mine  should  never  marry!" 

"Don't  say  that,  Stephen.  He  should  marry  the  right 
woman." 

"God!"  he  exclaimed,  fiercely.  "To  have  her  leave  him 
at  the  turning-point  of  his  career — at  the  crisis  of  his 
life  ?" 

"No,  no,  Stephen,  you've  passed  all  those  points.  You're 
at  the  top,  and  you  must  not  go  on  with  the  wrong  woman." 

He  repeated  the  words:  "The  wrong  woman!"  And  said, 
violently:  "You  take  leaving  your  husband  as  if  he  were  a 
house  you  wanted  to  leave  and  re-let!  Do  you  realize  what 
such  a  scandal  would  be  ?" 

"Not  as  I  plan,"  I  answered.  "I  shall  go  away,  and, 
little  by  little,  when  I  don't  return,  you  can  call  it  desertion 
and  get  a  divorce." 

300 


A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"And  what  then?" 

"You  can  marry  Mary  Tempest." 

He  jumped  up,  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looked  at 
me  hard,  then  cried:  "Mary  Tempest!  Not  if  she  were 
the  last  woman  on  God's  earth!" 

I  waited. 

"She  hasn't  one  sincere  conviction,  one  high-minded  ideal! 
I  don't  care,"  he  exclaimed  at  me,  as  though  I  were  urging 
him  to  an  unpleasant  duty,  "if  I  never  lay  eyes  upon  her 
again!" 

But  at  his  mention  of  her — or  my  mention  of  her — the 
long-pent-up  anguish  of  years,  the  long  strain  of  my  life  as 
an  unsuccessful  wife  burst  on  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  crum- 
bling rock  too  long  beaten  by  the  waves.  I  went  all  to  pieces 
then  and  there.  I  felt  the  stone  in  me,  which  no  hand  had 
ever  rolled  away  and  no  grief  melted,  melting  now,  dissolv- 
ing now,  and  I  remembered,  too,  that  my  husband  had  never 
seen  me  cry. 

"I  can't  stand  it  any  longer,  Stephen!" 

"Stand  what,  pray?" 

In  his  way  he  was  as  hard  as  I. 

"Being  an  utter  failure!" 

"I  don't  think  people  would  agree  with  you.  You've 
brought  me  from  being  a  degenerate  citizen  to  what  the 
world  would  call  Success." 

"Yes,  as  far  as  you  are  concerned,  but — what  about  me  ?" 

I  had  always  been  able  to  meet  his  eyes,  and  I  knew 
them  well:  how  they  widened  like  a  boy's  at  times,  and 
crinkled  up  at  the  corners  when  he  was  amused,  and  their 
look  of  tragedy.  Now  I  couldn't  see  how  they  looked,  for 
mine  were  blind. 

As  we  faced  each  other  silently,  I  knew  that  he  was  go- 
301 


A    SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 

ing  over  his  past,  and  the  nights  and  days  must  have  been 
many  in  which  Esther  Kirkland  had  no  part.  I  wanted  to 
say,  "To  be  a  successful  wife  a  woman  must  fill  the  man's 
every  need,  and  I  haven't  done  that,"  but  I  knew  my  words 
would  tangle  up  in  tears. 

I  went  to  the  bureau,  and  took  out  a  parcel  and  gave  it  to 
him — laid  it  in  his  hands,  always  without  meeting  his  eyes 
yet. 

"You  asked  for  it  in  the  train,  Stephen,  but  I  waited  to 
see  how  you  took  Carson  City  and  all — " 

And  my  husband  opened  the  old  manuscript  of  his  drama 
which  I  had  picked  up  off  the  floor  in  Washington  Square 
the  day  it  was  refused.  He  turned  it  over,  tore  off"  the  wrap- 
ping, went  back  to  the  window-seat  and  sat  down  again,  his 
drama  in  his  hands,  and  began  to  turn  the  pages.  Then  I 
could  look  at  him.  His  face  was  radiant;  he  exclaimed  as 
a  boy  might  who  comes  upon  hidden  treasure  for  which  he 
had  been  digging  against  all  the  wise  heads'  advice.  He 
read  some  lines  aloud,  and  laughed: 

"Gad!  Why,  it's  the  real  thing,  Esther!  It's  all  right — 
the  real  thing.  Listen — I  had  clean  forgotten  this  line — 
it's  miles  above  the  public.  Of  course  it  was  refused;  it's 
crude  and  young,  and  needs  rewriting  from  start  to  finish, 
but  it's  the  real  thing!" 

He  handled  it  as  if  it  were  precious,  absorbed  himself  in  it, 
and  I  watched  him  in  the  west  window,  the  sunset  back  of 
him.  I  thought  I'd  go  then,  and  leave  him  so — with  his 
book.  But  at  the  door  I  remembered  a  letter.  I  had  carried 
it  about  in  my  pocket  all  day,  since  morning,  and  wouldn't 
give  it  to  him — a  letter  from  Washington  in  black-bordered 
paper — and  he  glanced  up  as  I  put  it  in  his  hands. 

"It  came  this  morning." 

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A    SUCCESSFUL    WIFE 

"Did  it?"  he  answered,  indifferently,  and  laid  it  down 
on  the  window-sill.  "Where  did  you  find  it,  Esther?" 

"On  your  study  table  with  the  newspapers," 

"No,  no;  I  mean  Lucia  di  Siena" 

I  told  him. 

"It  was  like  you,  my  dear  girl,  to  keep  it  for  me.  You 
don't  know  what  you  have  given  me  back,  Esther — inspira- 
tion, ambition,  youth,  and  my  art!"  He  repeated  the  words 
"my  art,"  and  rolled  up  the  manuscript  and  held  it  in  his 
slender  hands. 

"I  am  not  a  financier  or  a  politician.  I  am  a  writer 
born,  by  nature  and  temper,  fatally,  terribly,  miserably  a 
writer — nothing  else  in  the  world."  He  asked  me  if  there 
were  any  cigars  and  matches,  and  when  I  said  no,  he  said: 
"Never  mind,  never  mind,  it's  only  a  habit  to  want  to 
look  at  new  schemes,  new  ideals  through  smoke.  Let  it 
go — I'll  look  at  these  heavenly  visions  through  clear  atmos- 
phere." He  touched  the  manuscript  tenderly  as  though  it 
had  life,  and  I  saw  that  the  few  pages  enfolded  for  him,  now, 
all  the  world. 

"Every  beautiful  island  in  the  ^Egean  Sea  calls  me,  every 
azure  coast  I  have  purposely  avoided  because  I  was  afraid 
to  touch  a  shore  with  my  dreams,  now  calls  me.  I  can  afford 
to  dream.  I  will  build  a  pink  villa  on  Como  with  ilex  and 
cypress  alleys,  and  steep  my  soul  in  the  ideal.  I  shall  make 
my  mark  yet,  my  dear  girl.  /  shall  make  my  mark!" 

I  believed  him.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  the  ravings  of  a 
vain  idealist;  it  seemed  true.  I  believed  him — I  knew  him, 
and  that  he  had  found  his  road  at  last,  and  the  manuscript  in 
his  hand  became  a  real  thing  to  me — a  live,  real  thing,  more 
real,  more  true  than  anything  that  had  been  in  his  life  or 
come  between  us  yet — and  the  thought  that  he  was  com- 
303 


A    SUCCESSFUL  WIFE 

plete  without  me  and  didn't  need  me  broke  my  heart!  The 
next  thing  I  knew  I  was  just  clinging  to  him. 

"Stephen!  Not  without  me!  Can  you  do  it  without 
me?" 

I  felt  him  catch  me — I  should  have  fallen.  I  heard  him 
say:  "Esther,  Esther,  for  God's  sake,  my  darling!"  / 
heard  him  say  those  words. 

I  didn't  cry  long,  but  it  must  have  been  a  great  storm,  for 
I  was  shaking  with  it,  and  he  as  well,  for  he  carried  me  like 
a  child  and  laid  me  on  the  bed,  and  when  I  had  calmed  he 
was  kneeling  by  my  side. 

"You're  ill — worn  out.     What  is  the  matter,  Esther?" 

"You  didn't  know  I  could  cry,  did  you,  Stephen?" 

"Why,  now  you  speak  of  it,  it  is  a  revelation,  but  I  think 
I  rather  like  it."  He  had  both  my  hands.  "Why  did  you 
cry  like  that  ?  Why  did  you  say  those  things  to  me  before 
you  gave  me  my  book  ?" 

His  face  had  a  wonderful  look  upon  it  of  gladness  and 
power  in  spite  of  tears,  and  it  wasn't  his  art,  either,  that 
caused  it.  It  was  the  same  light  that  had  begun  to  shine  long 
ago  —  when  I  brought  him  down  the  green  umbrella  in 
Wall  Street;  it  had  shone  on  me  again  in  Washington;  it 
shone  on  me  now,  and  I  saw  it  through  my  tears. 

"Esther,"  he  said,  in  the  voice  I  had  thought  so  beautiful 
when  I  heard  him  plead  in  the  Senate — "Esther,  your  weep- 
ing now  as  you  did — what  you've  said — makes  me  dare  to 
think  you've  forgiven  me — haven't  you — haven't  you  ?" 

"That's  not  the  word,  Stephen." 

"If  I  am  mistaken,  then  don't  tell  me  so,  but  if  what  I 
think  is  true — what  I  would  rather  have  than  fame  or  life — 
tell  me  so,  tell  me  so,  my  dear  girl." 

And  then  when,  of  all  moments,  I  should  have  been  strong 
3°4 


A    SUCCESSFUL   WIFE 

to  answer  him,  there  was  only  the  foolish  weakness  of  tears 
in  me.  I  drew  up  my  voice,  though,  when  it  threatened  to 
break  and  fail  me.  I  remembered  the  words  he  had  used 
about  himself. 

"Stephen — I'm  jealous — that's  all;  'fatally,  miserably, 
terribly'  jealous — I  can't  bear  it — I  can't — ' 

And  he  seemed  to  like  this  as  he  had  liked  my  tears. 

He  lifted  my  hands  and  laid  them  in  his  on  his  breast. 

"I  must  say  it's  your  own  fault,  my  dear  girl,  if  you  are, 
or  ever  have  been,  jealous;  I  know  it  now.  I  have  known  it 
for  some  weeks — but  that's  neither  here  nor  there;  all  I 
see  or  know  is  that  you  couldn't  be  jealous  unless  what  I 
think  is  true."  I  suppose  he  saw,  too,  that  I  wouldn't 
speak  yet,  that  I  wanted  him  to  go  the  whole  way.  "I 
mean,  my  darling,  that  you're  in  love  .  .  ." 

"That's  true,  Stephen,  'miserably,  terribly'  true!" 

I  could  almost  hear  his  heart  beat,  and  I  saw  his  face 
as  my  heart  had  ached  to  see  my  husband's  face. 

"My  dear  girl  .  .  .  it's  a  trouble  you  don't  have  to 
bear  alone." 

He  kissed  me — then  he  gave  a  cry  like  that  of  a  thirsty 
man  who  has  found  the  Source  and  tasted  Life  there.  He 
caught  me  to  him.  I  kissed  him  and  called  him  "Stephen! 
Stephen!"  over  and  over  again,  and  it  was  as  if  I  had  said 
his  name  for  the  first  time. 


THE   END 


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